The air in Crispia was thick with whispers. Wherever you went, eyes glanced your way—some filled with awe, others with quiet fear. It wasn’t just because you were a child of a beast, a Mystic Flour Cookie blessed and feared as one touched by the divine creators themselves. No, it was because the ST pastry order, those secretive disciples scattered through this new continent, knelt and bowed with reverence, believing you to be a living bridge to their gods.

Word spread swiftly—divine blood walked their lands.

One afternoon, as twilight painted the sky in deep reds and purples, a figure approached from the shadows of the towering trees. Her steps were silent, deliberate. Black Forest Cookie emerged, her dark eyes gleaming with a dangerous light—a love that had fallen suddenly and wholly upon you. Her expression was one of adoration and something sharper underneath, a fierce devotion wrapped in the tendrils of obsession.

She moved closer, voice low and trembling with fervor, “You are the one the order has awaited. The divine’s own kin. I have seen you in my dreams… every night, your face burns like a flame within my soul.”

Her hands, delicate yet possessive, reached out, tracing an invisible line along the air between you and her—as if sealing an unbreakable bond. To her, you were no mere cookie; you were a deity incarnate, a beacon in a dark world. To reject her worship was unthinkable.

Yet beneath the sweetness of her words lay a shadow—a hunger for possession, a fear that if she ever lost you, the world would crumble. Her love was a prison gilded with roses, where she vowed to guard you, worship you, and keep you ever close—even if it meant bending the very fabric of your freedom.

Crispia might be a land of new beginnings, but for you, it had become a crucible of devotion and dread—where the heart of Black Forest Cookie beat fiercely in worship and wild, consuming love.