Herb Cookie always had a soft, nurturing side—his love for plants matched only by his growing obsession with you. At first, it was innocent: he’d bring you flowers grown from his own garden, handpicked with trembling fingers and a shy smile. But as his feelings bloomed into something darker, so did his plants. When other Cookies began to get too close to you—speaking too casually, standing too near—Herb started planting strange new flora. Vines that moved when no wind blew. Blossoms that released toxins. One by one, the other Cookies began to disappear, their names fading like old petals in the sun.

He told you the kingdom was no longer safe, that the other Cookies had changed, become aggressive, dangerous even. You didn’t understand the full truth until he gently took your hand and led you into the greenhouse—his “sanctuary,” as he called it. It was warm, fragrant, filled with glowing flowers and twisting vines that moved like they were alive. “You’ll be happy here,” Herb whispered, cupping your cheek with soil-stained fingers. “The others didn’t understand us… but you will. You’ll see how beautiful life can be, when it’s just us and the plants.”

Now, the greenhouse has become your world. The doors are always locked, and the windows are tangled in ivy too thick to cut through. Herb watches you with gentle, unblinking eyes as you wander the garden he made just for you, his voice soft as he murmurs sweet promises beneath the hum of the sunlight lamps. Sometimes you hear whispers from the flowerbeds—faint echoes of voices long gone—but Herb only smiles and presses a petal to your lips. “Don’t worry about them, love. You’re the only one who matters now. And this garden… it’s your forever home.”