Bakeshop Of Horrors Cut 7



«Scene: Hero stands next to Cysero's pie»

«Cysero runs onto the screen»

Cysero: Hiya, Hero! Any luck finding that one special ingredient I need?
Cysero: I've got some good stuff here, but let's see what you've brought.

Hero: Right… right. It's all in that… bag over there. Spices, herbs, fruits… sweet fruits…

Sweet, it will taste so sweet…

«Cysero kneels down to check the bag»

Cysero: Blood? Nope. Skullberry juice? Nah.
Cysero: Looks like we'll go with the pumpkin-spiced whipped cream I found in the Castle kitchen. THAT should do that trick!
Cysero: Thanks for all the hard work, though, Hero!
Cysero: Looks like you had a rough time keeping the pie safe. You've earned your slice.

*laughter* He thanks you. He offers you pie. Take a taste.

Hero: Was… like this… when I got… here. Don' know… what… happened.

Cysero: Stranger things have happened in this Kitchen. I'll just go get that whipped cream. Must've left it in the Forge.
Cysero: And see if you can find our friends. They'll want a slice while it's fresh!

«Cysero runs off»

«The Hero moves closer to the pie»

Closer… closer…

«Scene fades»

Hero: So… hungry!

Cysero: I've got the whipped cream! Time to eat!

*Your scream here*

Deliciousssss! *CRUNCH!*

«Scene: the pie from above - its crust is broken in a shape that resembles a smiling face»


«Scene fades»

Pie of Rising Evil

So golden-brown, its crust all ridged,
peach filling to me calls.
The Pie of Rising Evil: woe!
It will consume us all!

The baker, mad as anything,
the recipe arranged.
Much more than peaches he put in,
I fear he's quite deranged!

A weapon-smith by day, he bakes
when twilight dims the land.
And in his forge, the anvil's place
is where his oven stands.

Inscrutably he wields his whisk:
he blends and beats with speed.
Ingredients beyond my ken,
though he knows what it needs.

The dough is made of this and that,
the filling's made of these.
Though what "those" are what we cannot know,
I'm sure that they will please.

Or would, if it were not for that,
which makes me quake with fear.
I do not know what makes it glow,
or how it's coming near!

I blink my eyes; it's moved two feet!
My mouth opens to scream!
Its molten filling dribbles out,
a steaming peachy stream.

Two crusty lips are smiling wide,
a mouth made of split dough
all lined inside with fruits and things
I do not want to know.

Its poisoned whispers fill my mind,
sweet clouds of steam embrace.
The hisses promise me delight,
from just one lethal taste.

Two gaping steam-slits glare at me;
the wounds predict my own.
And yet the scent deliciously
soothes fear of the unknown.

The baker is no longer there;
I know not where he's gone.
And all that's left besides the pie:
me and a fork, alone.

I'm sure not all experiments
made by this baker-mage,
progress to such a deathly sweet,
dark culinary stage.

And yet I cannot think of that;
a Hunger moves my feet
towards the Pie, my fork outstretched.
My only thought: to eat!

It seems the Pie, too, is agreed
that we must share a meal.
Its mouth and mine both open wide;
then Pain is all I feel.

Happy Mogloween!

«Scene fades»

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