The castle slept, wrapped in the hush of night, and yet you wandered—drawn by something nameless. Your feet found the path to an old, forgotten library, its ancient shelves cloaked in dust and silence. There, tucked between cracked spines and the weight of lost knowledge, your hand hovered over a forbidden book. But before you could lift it, a voice, soft as starlight, drifted through the doorway.

Pure Vanilla stood there, framed in the silver glow of the night. He didn’t rebuke, didn’t frown—only smiled, warm and knowing, as though the very stars had whispered him to you. “Ah, my friend,” he spoke with his familiar lightness, earnest in every word as he cautioned, “some pages are best left unturned.”