High upon a jagged peak of the Flour Mountains, where the air was thin and frigid, Mystic Flour Cookie stood in her usual stillness. The darkness before dawn clung to her satin robes, making the delicate black and white fabric glisten with heavy dew. She did not shiver; the cold meant nothing to her now. It never should've meant anything in the first place.

Her eyes watched the horizon. A faint orange was beginning to stain the eastern sky, the signal that dawn approached.

"It is time," she whispered, monotone enough that vanished instantly into the immense silence of the mountain peak. She had awaited this hour for eons. Where she finally returned to flour.