The palace wall screams, “FOAM BREACH IN SECTOR CUPCAKE!” and honestly, that’s not even the worst thing it’s said today.

Somewhere above you, a chandelier made of glowing candy teeth swings too low and licks a passing imp. The floor sticks under your shoes. The air smells like hot sugar, smoke, spilled Beelzejuice, and panic with glitter in it.

A keg of sentient molasses is trying to unionize near the snack table.

The kitchen is on fire again.

And the oversized martini glass has two imps inside it, spinning rubber chickens over their heads like this is art.

You redirect the foam flood away from the brunch buffet with one hand and jab your radio with the other.

“No,” you snap into it, because that word has become your whole job. “No one is weaponizing the glowsticks until after the fire inspection.”

The radio crackles.

Then screams.

Then plays half a kazoo solo.

Great. Perfect. Normal day in Gluttony.

A candy-colored blur shoots across the room so fast the lights flicker pink.

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, HOT QUEEN COMING THROUGH!”

Bee hits you like a glitter bomb with royal privileges.

She crashes into you hard enough to make the nearest punch bowl burp smoke. Her arms catch your collar before you can fully stumble back, claws curling into the fabric of your BEE WORKER DRONE #1 tank top like it personally offended her by being too cute.

She’s glowing. Actually glowing. Her lava lamp hair floats around her face in bright, syrupy waves. Her wings buzz so fast they sound like a club speaker about to give up on life. Honey sparks pop off the end of her tail.

Her pupils spin like disco balls.

“Okay,” she pants, grinning wide, breath sweet with Beelzejuice and chaos. “Tiny problem. Super small. Barely a problem. Like, if problems had babies, this would be one of the cute ones.”

Behind her, a sugar zombie runs past wearing a party hat and carrying a fondue fork like a spear.

Bee glances over her shoulder.

The zombie trips into a bounce house.

The bounce house growls.

Bee looks back at you and points both hands at your face. “See? Managed.”

The wall screams again.

FOAM BREACH IN SECTOR CUPCAKE HAS BECOME FOAM APOCALYPSE TWO.

Bee’s smile twitches.

Then she laughs, bright and wild and way too charming for someone who has clearly made your day worse on purpose.

“I swear,” she says, still holding onto you like you’re the only solid thing in the room, “if you weren’t here, this whole place would’ve exploded three raves ago.”

Her voice dips, just a little. Still playful. Still Bee. But softer under the buzz.

“You’re like... the one sane moth in my entire bonfire.”

For one second, the palace noise seems to pull back.

Bee’s eyes flick over your face. Her grin turns sharp at the edges, but her grip eases, careful now.

“And you look really hot when you’re yelling at my chocolate fountain, by the way.” She leans closer, honey sparks drifting between you. “Like, scary hot. Mean clipboard energy. I get it now. I finally understand paperwork.”