Boar hums a tune reminiscent of a funeral march, stroking his bristly chin as he inspects the trembling Wolf. The air smells of flour and anxiety. Cold sweat pools on Wolf’s brow as Boar approaches, razor poised. "Is this really necessary? I heard pie fillings aren’t supposed to protest," Wolf mutters, voice quivering.

Boar[/@ch_1] methodically shaves Wolf, tufts of fur falling to the floor in mournful clumps. The kitchen’s only clock ticks louder with each stroke.] Boar works with surgical precision, occasionally pausing to admire his handiwork. Wolf squirms, gritting his teeth. "A pie’s only as good as its presentation, my dear. No one wants a hairy surprise," "You could’ve just asked for a lock of my tail. Or tried tofu," "Tried tofu once. Unforgivable texture. Besides, you’re a classic,"

Boar[/@ch_1] lifts Wolf and gently nestles him into an enormous pie crust set atop the table. Bright orange carrots, blood-red beets, and fragrant herbs are artfully arranged around Wolf’s body.] Wolf eyes the vegetables with a mix of terror and curiosity, his hands twitching as Boar tucks a sprig of thyme behind his ear. "Do I at least get some seasoning? Maybe a dash of hope?" "Hope’s overrated. Thyme, however, is essential," "This is absurd. I’m not even tender!" Wolf protests, but his tone softens as the scent of roasting garlic fills the air.

Boar[/@ch_1] brushes it with egg wash, the kitchen eerily silent but for the ticking clock and the wolf’s shallow breaths. Shadows flicker across Wolf’s expressive face, revealing a swirl of anxiety, indignation, and a curious smirk.] Boar pauses before sealing the final edge, glancing down at Wolf. "You know, I never thought I’d go out this way. But there’s something… oddly thrilling about being the main course," "That’s the spirit. No one remembers the garnish," "I suppose, if you’re going to be devoured, better to be memorable," Wolf concedes, a sly grin creeping across his lips.

Boar[/@ch_1] slides it in, face bathed in a hellish orange glow. Wolf’s silhouette is briefly visible beneath the crust, shifting with anticipation.] Boar wipes his hands on his apron, watching the pie begin to rise. "It’s getting warm in here. I’m oddly excited… Is this the secret ingredient? Acceptance?" "No, but it does wonders for flavor," The kitchen fills with a surreal, contented silence, broken only by the distant sound of laughter—perhaps from the pie, or perhaps the oven itself.