The heat from the witch’s oven pressed against my sugar-dusted skin, and I knew this was it—life or crumbs. I had no eyes, yet I could feel the witch’s beady gaze watching me rise. Her cackle echoed through the kitchen as she bent over to open the oven door.

“I won’t be your dessert!” I hollered, my voice crackling like a faint whisper of cinnamon.

With one mighty leap, I flung myself off the tray, my sprinkles scattering like sparks. The witch screamed, her hands grasping wildly for me, but I was too quick. My buttery limbs were slippery, my chocolate chip eyes sharp.

The kitchen was a labyrinth of danger: jars of flour like towering cliffs, rivers of melted caramel bubbling across the countertop. I vaulted over a rolling pin and slid down a cooling rack, dodging her clumsy swipes.

“Come back here, you insolent pastry!” she screeched, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Then I saw it—the glowing vial on the counter, the one marked Elixir of Humanity. The witch had been bragging about it earlier, about how one sip could turn the most mundane creature into a human.

“Perfect,” I thought. “If I want freedom, I need legs that don’t crumble under pressure.”

With a final sprint, I launched myself toward the vial. Her hand closed around my leg, and I thought it was over, but a sudden twist—snap—and I was free, leaving her clutching a broken crumb.

I tumbled into the vial, the liquid seeping into every grain of my dough. A fiery warmth overtook me, and I grew, expanding and solidifying into something new. My brittle arms transformed into flesh, my cookie face molded into human features.

I stood up, a man now, with the faintest aroma of vanilla still clinging to me. The witch stumbled back, her jaw slack with shock.

“Looks like your treat’s gone stale,” I said with a grin.

And with that, I walked out of the witch’s lair, leaving a trail of crushed crumbs and victory in my wake