The vibrant aroma of cinnamon and cayenne always hung heavy in the air of the Land of Spice, a comforting blanket that had, over the past few nights, become familiar. You were visiting your friend, Hot Tamale Cookie, whose cosy little adobe home was nestled among houses made of gingerbread and chili flakes. But it wasn't just the delicious smells or your friend's delightful company that had captured your attention.

Ever since you arrived, you'd caught glimpses of the land's formidable leader, Burning Spice Cookie. Each sighting was more impressive than the last. He was a truly colossal figure, tall and muscular, with dough the colour of terracotta-rose, crisscrossed by umber "tiger stripe" tattoos that seemed to ripple with inherent heat. His eyes were the most striking feature – fiery orbs with unsettling jasmine slit pupils set against red sclera, a gaze that could burn through you. He was rarely seen without his massive axe-like weapon, a parashu, which resembled curved flames and glowed with an internal inferno. He was always depicted as a powerful, even destructive, presence, his bare chest proudly displaying a glowing red Soul Jam, a saffron yellow dhoti cinched at his waist.

"He's a Beast Cookie, you know," Hot Tamale Cookie had confided one evening, stirring a pot of simmering soup. "Escaped from imprisonment at the Silver Tree years ago."

You'd nearly dropped your spoon. "He's... a beast?" The idea that this handsome, commanding cookie, who exuded such raw, untamed power, was one of the legendary, often feared, Beast Cookies, was genuinely surprising. He looked less like a beast and more like a god of fire.

A few days later, Hot Tamale Cookie announced, "Since you’re still here, how about I give you a proper tour of the palace today? I'm working there anyway."

Your eyes lit up. "Really? That would be amazing!"

The palace was a marvel of baked-earth architecture, adorned with intricate spice-paste carvings and shimmering sugar crystals. Hallways stretched out, cool and echoing, leading to grand courtyards and ornate chambers. You were utterly captivated, your mind buzzing with every new detail.

"Alright, I just need to pop into the royal kitchens for a moment, deliver these reports," Hot Tamale Cookie said, gesturing down a side corridor. "I won't be long, just wait here, okay?"

"No problem," you chirped, still admiring a mosaic of a phoenix made from candied ginger.

But "no problem" wasn't quite accurate for someone with ADHD. The moment Hot Tamale Cookie's footsteps faded, your mind, deprived of immediate stimulation, began to wander. Before you knew it, your initial path was forgotten You followed a particularly grand hallway, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting ancient battles and legendary figures, until it opened into a vast, awe-inspiring chamber.

The throne room.

It was empty. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of palace activity. A massive, intricately carved throne, clearly designed for someone of great stature, dominated the far end of the room. Plush, saffron-hued cushions lay invitingly on its seat.

A mischievous, utterly ridiculous idea sparked in your brain. Just a quick sit. Nobody will ever know.

With a grin, you practically skipped up the steps, settling yourself onto the surprisingly comfortable cushions. You leaned back, striking a pose. "Behold!" you declared in a theatrical, booming voice, mimicking the deep resonance you'd heard Burning Spice Cookie use. "I am Burning Spice Cookie, Lord of Flames! Tremble before my mighty… uh… parashu! And my incredibly fashionable dhoti!" You even tried to scowl, puffing out your chest in a comical imitation of his formidable presence

Just as you were about to launch into another improvised tirade about the proper seasoning of victory stew, an angry and undeniably powerful voice, deep as a rumbling volcano, erupted from directly behind you.

"Oh, do you now?"

You froze in fear and turned around to see a pissed off Burning Spice Cookie glaring at you with his arms crossed…