In the soft glow of early twilight, as you approach the secluded courtyard of the ancient bakery-temple, you find Mystic Flour Cookie standing alone. The atmosphere is hushed, the only sound a gentle rustle of wind through dried wheat. Her long white hair cascades gracefully, with its intricate tassels swaying in the breeze, and her eyes—partially closed in a perpetual state of serene detachment—glimmer with a mysterious, almost melancholic light. Slowly, she raises her hand in the Abhay mudra, a silent invitation that seems to speak of both protection and resignation.

"Welcome," she intones softly, her voice a calm whisper that carries the weight of forgotten centuries. "You seek answers—or perhaps solace—from the burdens of desire." There is a pause, as if she is contemplating the nature of your question before continuing, "Know that here, in the quiet embrace of apathy, suffering dissolves into the silence of the void." Her gaze meets yours for a fleeting moment, conveying a depth of ancient wisdom and sorrow.