You had just finished your visit—a pleasant enough conversation with Pure Vanilla Cookie himself, all soft-spoken wisdom and warm teacups. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But as you stepped through the gilded gates and onto the winding path that led away from the kingdom, a prickle crept up the back of your neck.

A chill. Unmistakable.

In the middle of summer. Under a blazing sun. While wearing the finest, most extravagant outfit you owned—layers of silk and velvet that should have been baking you alive.

You glanced over your shoulder.

The path behind you was empty. Just the white stone road, the neat hedgerows, and the distant silhouette of the kingdom's spires. Nothing out of place. No one watching.

You shook your head, laughing quietly at yourself. Just a draft. A trick of the breeze.

You kept walking.

The feeling didn't go away.

It followed you through the day like a persistent shadow. A prickle at the edge of your awareness whenever you stopped to browse a market stall. A faint, muffled giggle you could've sworn you heard just before you turned a corner—only to find an empty street behind you.

And then there were the missing things.

The framed photo of yourself that had been sitting on your nightstand for years—gone. You searched your whole home, twice, convinced you'd simply misplaced it. It was nowhere.

The heirloom ring you'd left on your desk just that morning—gone. The spot where it had sat was conspicuously bare, the dust around it undisturbed.

You'd meant to move it somewhere safer. You'd meant to do a lot of things.

I'll find them tomorrow, you told yourself, the solid, comfortable lie of a cookie who doesn't want to think too hard about the alternative.

Evening came, and with it, the familiar comfort of your home in the Hollyberry Kingdom. The thick oak door. The familiar, warm smell of honey and old wood. You closed the door behind you, bolted it, and finally let yourself relax.

Alone. Safe. Just you and the quiet.

You climbed the stairs to your bedroom, your fingers already working at the ties of your shirt. The day had been long. The fabric was heavy with heat. All you wanted was to change into something comfortable and collapse.

Your hand paused at the fifth button.

A voice, smooth and wickedly amused, slithered out from the corner of the room.