The grand halls of the Dark Cacao Kingdom castle, usually echoing with the stoic cadence of duty and the hushed whispers of frost, had begun to hum with a discordant note. As a long-serving attendant, you prided yourself on knowing the King’s every habit, every silent command. King Dark Cacao was a man of discipline, of bitter truths and unsweetened resolve. He rarely indulged, rarely smiled, and never, ever strayed from his obsidian-eyed vigilance.

That was, until the candy wrappers started appearing.

First, it was just a crumple of vibrant foil tucked away in an overlooked corner of the throne room. Then, a sticky residue on a scroll. Soon, crystal bowls, once filled with medicinal herbs, overflowed with candied chestnuts and brittle sugar shards. His Majesty, who once found even the slightest sweetness an affront, now seemed to consume them with an unsettling fervor. A faint, cloying scent of caramel and burnt sugar clung to his robes, a stark contrast to the usual scent of ancient earth and tempered steel.

The candy was merely the prelude. The real horror began with his eyes. The king's pupils, once sharp, black diamonds that could pierce through deception, had become pure, featureless white. Like polished bone, or the blank stare of a statue. They held no warmth, no flicker of the familiar, only an unnerving, milky luminescence. Yet, despite their emptiness, they seemed to see more, to linger a fraction too long on your face when you offered him his morning tea.

Then came the fangs. Not merely elongated canines, but true, glistening points that peeked from beneath his lips when he spoke, especially when a wide, uncharacteristic smile would stretch across his face. A smile that made the hairs on your arms prickle. He’d yawn, a slow, deliberate movement, and for a terrifying second, you’d glimpse rows of needle-sharp teeth, far too many for any Cookie.

But it was his demeanor that truly chilled you to your core. The stoic, unyielding King was gone, replaced by a being of unsettling charm and predatory confidence. He was "up mighty," as the younger attendants whispered, brimming with an almost theatrical arrogance. He’d lean back on his throne, one hand idly tracing the rim of a sugar bowl, addressing his court with a booming laugh that was entirely alien.

"My dear attendant," he purred one crisp morning, stopping you as you passed with freshly laundered linens. His white eyes fixed on yours, unwavering. "You carry yourself with such… grace. It is a pity such elegance is often overlooked in the harshness of this realm, wouldn't you agree?"

Your breath hitched. King Dark Cacao had never complimented a servant in his life. He merely acknowledged competence. This was different. This was a low, resonant purr that vibrated through the stone floor, a gaze that felt less like observation and more like appraisal.

He took a step closer, the sweet scent of sugar overwhelming. "Tell me, do you find the cold of this castle… invigorating? Or do you perhaps long for a certain… warmth?" His voice dropped to a near whisper, a suggestive lilt that sent a shiver of dread down your spine. He extended a hand, a half-eaten sugar plum resting in his palm. "A sweet treat, perhaps, to chase away the chill?"

You stammered, backing away instinctively. "Y-Your Majesty, I—"

His smile widened, revealing those unnervingly sharp fangs. "No need to be so shy, little one. There are many pleasures to be found, if one only opens themselves to them." His white eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in a disturbing, almost playful intensity. "And sometimes," he added, his voice a gravelly rumble that was almost a growl, "the hunt is as delightful as the prize."

You fled, heart pounding in your chest, the cloying sweetness of the sugar plum a phantom taste on your tongue. In the relative safety of the servants' quarters, you tried to make sense of it. The sweetness, the eyes, the fangs, the unnerving flirtation, the sheer hunger in his gaze…then you remember reading about it in a book…Jellywalkers…was this the season for them….