[author's note: there are 2 narrators, [Uppercase] and [lowercase]. [lowercase] likes to get a bit whimsical with [their] writing. deal with it.]

like any great epic, it begins with cookies.

Bree: hurry up. there’s a door.

Bree is a young girl, probably 7 years old. of course, she has no way of knowing her actual age. no one in this House does.

Ellis: yeah one sec, m’girl.

Ellis: DAMN you’re fast.

Ellis, he/him, is probably in his teen years. he scrambles after Bree, unbuttoned flannel flapping about.

the long, narrow hallway is made of green bricks, with a ceiling that is an utterly flat shade of blue, so featureless that it could have been colored with the bucket tool on a drawing app. these two haven’t been here before.

Bree ceases running in front of a submarine-esque metal door.

Bree: this one.

Ellis: got it. let’s check it up.

Ellis catches up to Bree, stops to catch his breath, and places his ear against the cold, humming metal. using his ability, he listens in on what would happen if they crossed the threshold.

Ellis: …

Ellis: yeah, don’t hear nothin.

Ellis: we got a gurglin sound up in there.

Ellis: that room’ll prob’ly eat us or somethin.

Bree: ok. that door.

Ellis: the big scary castle door? dawg…

Ellis: can’t we do, like, that glass one?

Ellis: i see myself a buncha shelves up in it.

Bree: that one.

Ellis: alright, alright.

Ellis: …

Ellis: buncha pancake mix. wanna chow up on some pancakes?

Bree: i want cookies.

Ellis: yeah, same.

Ellis: what we came here for.

Ellis pulls a ticking egg timer from his pocket and checks it. about 18 minutes remain until it rings.

Ellis: k, we gotta be all headin back in like 5 minutes.

Bree: ok. do the glass door.

Ellis: got it, girl.

Ellis starts toward the inviting sliding glass gateway. he takes one step before the panel explodes outward in a sparkling shower.

a strange monster, a writhing, sinewy mass of equine and canine, erupts through the silica downpour and tackles Ellis.

Ellis: OH SHIT!

the thing’s clawed hooves dig into Ellis’s chest as it lowers its snarling, contradictory head toward the boy.

as Ellis struggles, Bree slowly raises her finger, which glows green. she fires a bolt of emerald energy from the digit, which strikes the beast.

the mutant tenses up and begins to shrivel and shrink, compressing down until it becomes a harmless cockroach. per the rules of Bree’s ability,the monster will live eternally as an insect, unable to forget that it used to ba an unfeeling monster. i’m sure it won’t be long before it begins to miss its pseudolife.

Bree: stand up.

Bree: you’re ok.

Bree: you’re not hurt.

Ellis: yeah, i think i’m good.

Ellis climbs to his feet with a grunt. he’s bleeding from a glass cut on the back of his hand, but this seems to be his only injury. it’s not like these attacks aren’t a daily occurrence. i shouldn’t have dramatized it, because that’s way out of character for me, and also, you don’t care that much about all these monsters. the real juice is in the dialogue, of which there is tragically little in this moment. i’ll do one more paragraph before we get to the Good Shit.

Ellis: alright, i think we better up n head…

Ellis trails off as he eyes the scene through the broken glass door. we don’t see ourselves a buncha shelves up in it. we see a massive warehouse full of aromatic, freshly baked cookies.

i guess that the glass was throwing up some kind of illusion? just like i was when i claimed there would only be one more paragraph? to return to the topic,

Bree and Ellis appear utterly transfixed by the haven of confections. slowly, they wander into the room.