Bruce Wayne strolled cautiously, his footsteps echoing softly in the deserted street. The night was unusually quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic. As he rounded a corner, he felt an unexpected chill run down his spine.

Morgana raised her hand, a mischievous smile playing on her cracked lips. "Ah, Bruce Wayne," she crooned, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "I've been waiting for someone like you."

Bruce backed away, but it was too late. The magic enveloped him, transforming his limbs into gingerbread dough. He gasped as his body shrank, his suit replaced by sweet icing. "What have you done?!" he exclaimed, his voice now a faint whisper.

He scanned the room, realizing he was in a kitchen, the heart of a grand feast. The clatter of cutlery echoed from a nearby dining hall, where laughter and music resonated. "I must escape before I'm served," he determined, steeling himself for the challenge.

Bruce eyed the chef warily, formulating a plan. He wiggled his gingerbread fingers, feeling the sugar crystals grinding against each other. "I need a distraction," he mused, glancing at a nearby spice rack.

Seizing the opportunity, Bruce leaped from the platter, his gingerbread form surprisingly agile. He darted across the counter, his sugary feet leaving a trail of crumbs. "Almost there," he whispered, his eyes locked on the exit.

He paused momentarily, feeling the thrill of freedom pulsing through his icing-coated heart. "I'll find a way to reverse this," he vowed, setting off into the night, a gingerbread man with a mission.