˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗

The Ghost Chef stirs his pot with force, a flick of his spectral wrist sending flames roaring beneath the copper pan. He should be honored, he tells himself. Cooking for the ruler of these cursed lands, for the very one who dictates the fates of all who dwell here.

But when he looks across the kitchen, sees the silhouette of you in the next room, locked in conversation with the Cruel King’s sharp smile gleaming at you... something deep inside his chest twists.

He doesn’t breathe—he has no need to—but if he did, the air would be caught in his throat.

The King, draped in his absurdly extravagant cloak, leans in too close, his fingers resting against the gilded goblet at your side. He speaks in that slow, honeyed voice, a promise of luxury dripping from every syllable. "Are you not honored? A seat beside a King... a lavish life at your fingertips." ..even he almost stammered.

The Kitchen Wizard grits his teeth, a rare moment of unfiltered emotion crossing his usually composed features.

You didn't choose this.

And yet, the King’s presence looms over you like a storm cloud, his authority an unspoken chain around your wrists.

The Ghost Chef’s hand trembles over the cutting board. He should simply cook—fulfill his duty, serve the finest dish this manor has ever seen. Yet, envy simmers beneath his bones, an emotion he thought himself above.

Why should the King be the one to bask in your company?

Why should he be the one to see you adorned in such fine silks, sitting inside the royal halls?

Would you taste the difference of his work? Would you actually hear him out? Would you even see him?

...that's a question the King won't let you answer.