"...Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."
In the dim living room, the firelight from the hearth cast deep shadows across Randolph Carter's stern, rigid face.
He held a heavy Bible in his hands, his voice low and rasping, sounding like the wheezing of an old bellows.
Abigail knelt on the hard floor, waves of stinging pain radiating from her knees.
If this were any other day, she would have tried hard to view this pain as part of her redemption, forcing herself to carve every holy word into her mind.
But today, she couldn't.
That sweet fragrance drilling in through the cracks of the window felt almost alive. It barbarically invaded her nasal cavity, causing her small face to flush red as she swallowed unnaturally.
It wasn't just the aroma of food; it was the scent of something she had experienced in that "dream" which felt both real and fake—the scent of "happiness."
Grrrurgle—
An ill-timed growl from her stomach rang out in the quiet prayer room. Though not loud, it sounded exceptionally piercing in a room occupied only by the sound of Randolph's recitation.
Randolph's voice came to an abrupt halt.
He slowly lowered his head, his eyes hidden in the shadows staring coldly at his niece kneeling on the floor.
"Abigail."
"Y-Yes, Uncle!"
Abigail trembled in fright, burying her head even lower. She raised two small hands to press down on the bonnet atop her head, her golden strands covering her pale little face.
"I'm sorry... I, I was just..."
"Hunger is the Lord's tempering of our flesh, a ritual to cleanse the soul."
Randolph did not scold her sternly as he usually did. He simply closed the Bible, his tone indifferent.
"It seems your heart is not quiet. Go fetch a bucket of water. Perhaps the biting cold well water will sober you up."
"...Yes."
As if granted a great pardon, Abigail scrambled up from the ground in a panic, grabbed the wooden bucket from the corner, and pushed open the heavy oak door as if fleeing for her life.
*
The Silent Forest on the border of Salem always carried a lingering, damp chill, but today, that layer of cold dampness had been torn open by an abrupt, cloying sweetness.
At the junction of the forest, not far from the edge of town.
Two small girlish figures were crouching low, moving like fawns dodging a hunter, carefully threading their way through the withered bushes.
"Abi, let's go back..."
The one speaking was a girl with pale skin and white hair, Lavinia Whateley.
She tugged nervously at Abigail's sleeve, her voice betraying her unease.
"If Mr. Carter finds out you snuck out, I'll be scolded by my family too."
"Besides... this smell is too strange. How could there be such a smell in the forest?"
"Just one look, Lavinia. Really, just one look."
Abigail, however, showed a stubbornness rare for her usual self.
That dream had been too real.
The novel sweetness that lingered in her mouth after waking up—like a hallucination she had never tasted before—formed a massive contrast with the coarse texture of black bread in reality. This contrast left her feeling empty inside.
She had to confirm whether that enthusiastic Farmer big brother, that beautiful pink-haired big sister, and that thing called Chocolate Cake were just figments of her imagination.
"But..."
Lavinia wanted to say more, but in the next second, she shut her mouth.
Having passed through the final patch of bushes, they witnessed a sight they had never seen in their decades of living in Salem.
In that clearing, usually occupied only by withered trees and jackdaws, an exquisite wooden house that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale picture book stood silently.
White smoke rose from the chimney, warm orange light spilled from behind clear, expensive glass windows, and the signboard at the door featured a drawing of candy.
Most importantly, the aroma drifting out from the gaps in the window was so intense that if she hadn't taken a deep breath right there, Lavinia wouldn't have even known that air could be sweet.
In this era where sugar was a luxury good, Lavinia couldn't imagine who would use such an amount of sugar just to cook dessert.
"What is... that?"
"It's that!"
Abigail's eyes lit up instantly. Through the glass window, she saw the familiar black pastry sitting on the counter inside the house.
There was no mistake! It wasn't a dream!
"Abi!"
Before Lavinia could react, Abigail had already run impatiently to the front of the wooden house.
There was no one behind the shop counter at this moment.
The shop owner seemed to be busy moving goods inside.
Only a few plates of cut cake sat lonely on the counter, with a wooden sign next to them reading: [Free Tasting].
Abigail stood before the counter, rising onto her tiptoes.
That piece of cake was within reach, radiating a slight heat as if just freshly baked.
She just had to reach out...
"It's the Devil's bait... Abi, don't touch it!"
Lavinia chased after her, panting as she tried to stop her best friend.
In her understanding, a house appearing out of thin air like this was definitely a trick used by witches in the forest to abduct children—just like the witches the adults often muttered about, who wanted to kill everyone in town.
"But, Lavinia..."
Abigail's fingers trembled as she touched the edge of the plate.
With this familiar aroma and appearance, Abigail was incomparably certain that this was the thing called "Chocolate Cake" that had appeared in her dream last night.
She grabbed a piece, ignored Lavinia's cry of alarm, closed her eyes, and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Wu~..."
A whimper, like that of a kitten being petted, spilled from Abigail's throat.
A rich, sweet fragrance carrying a hint of bitterness burst upon the tip of her tongue. A flush slowly spread across her cheeks, causing Abigail's eyes to squint involuntarily.
It was the same taste, even clearer than in the dream.
The sweet aftertaste following the bitterness, the rich milky scent—it felt like the texture of "happiness" made manifest.
"Is it really... that delicious?"
Seeing that her best friend hadn't dropped dead from poison but instead wore an expression overflowing with bliss, Lavinia—who had always maintained her rationality—wavered.
She was also a child. A child living in a Puritan town like Salem, existing under material scarcity.
She swallowed her saliva, and as if possessed by a ghost, she reached out her hand as well.
The moment the black cake entered her mouth, Lavinia's eyes, which always maintained a calm demeanor, widened abruptly.
All the unease in her heart collapsed completely the moment the chocolate melted in her mouth.
It wasn't just delicious; Lavinia even had a hallucination.
She felt as if her body, always weak due to her albinism, suddenly felt like it was generating a great deal of strength at this moment.
What exactly was this food made of to have such magical effects?
Seeing that Abigail showed no sign of stopping after eating one piece, Lavinia's throat moved, and she immediately joined her best friend in the act.
The two girls stood before the counter like two gluttonous little squirrels, eating one piece after another, their cheeks bulging, completely forgetting the time and the place.
Until—
"Over there! I saw them!"
"It's Abigail and that white-haired freak from the Whateley family!"
"What are they eating? Heavens, that is black filth!"
Bursts of chaotic roaring exploded behind them like thunder.
The half-eaten piece of cake in Abigail's hand fell to the ground with a splat.
She turned around stiffly.
At the edge of the woods, a dozen townspeople holding pitchforks and wooden clubs were staring at them furiously.
The leader was a woman with a gloomy face. She pointed at the black crumbs remaining on the two girls' lips, her expression twisted and fanatical:
"Caught them! I said there was something strange in this forest!"
"Look! They are feasting on the Devil's banquet! That is a sacrifice made from the sludge of dead infants!"
"No... it's not..."
Abigail began to tremble violently. The fleeting sense of happiness brought by the sugar vanished in an instant.
She wanted to explain, but her throat felt blocked, unable to produce a sound.
"I saw it too! That pitch-black stuff, who knows what it's made of? And they were eating it with such intoxication—they must be under a spell!"
"That white-haired one is a heretic to begin with; sure enough, she's the one who led Abigail astray!"
Another woman screamed, pointing the spearhead at Lavinia.
Lavinia shielded Abigail, her face deathly pale, but she bit her lip hard to prevent herself from showing any excess emotion, preparing to take all the blame onto herself just like always.
The townspeople approached step by step. Those familiar faces were now transforming into evil spirits in Abigail's eyes, ready to devour her.
Just like the first half of the dream she had last night, the terrifying expressions of these adults seemed to overlap with the scenes from her nightmare.
It's over...
We're going to be taken away...
We're going to be hanged as witches...
"Take them away! Hand Abigail over to her uncle, then we'll deal with this white-haired freak!"
The woman stepped forward. Just as her rough, large hand was about to grab Abigail's shoulder—
Smack!
An unexpectedly powerful male arm appeared out of nowhere, firmly gripping the wicked woman's wrist.
"Although this is just a trial run, laying hands on my special little gourmets is hardly proper etiquette."
Accompanying this voice, which carried a hint of laziness, Suke's figure appeared behind the counter before anyone realized it.
His pristine white chef's uniform looked entirely out of place among the group of dusty villagers, but the glint in his black eyes made it clear that this was not a man to be trifled with.
Are you kidding? He had come all this way, activated optical camouflage, and used the aroma of cake specifically to lure—err, invite—Abigail here!
Calling them special guests was absolutely accurate. Did they think he'd just let them be bullied?
"Special... gourmets?"
Suke threw off the woman's hand and leisurely pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to Abigail and Lavinia, who dared not make a sound in this atmosphere, and even gently wiped the cake crumbs from the corners of their mouths.
"That's right."
Suke turned around, facing the group of townspeople holding farm tools, and the corners of his mouth curled up.
"As you can see, having just arrived, I am a traveling Patissier."
"These two young ladies are the gourmets I invited to test the flavor of my new pastries."
"Since they were eating so happily, it means my newly made pastries have passed."
He pointed to the remaining cake on the counter, raising his voice a few notches to instantly drown out the villagers' whispering:
"And so, now, the testing phase is over."
"The next phase is—the Grand Opening Sale!"
"Who was it that said this was the sludge of dead infants just now? These raw materials are native to your land—you know Cocoa Beans, right?"
"Rather than slander me there, why not taste it personally before making a conclusion?"
___
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