The lioness blinked awake, her senses instantly assaulted by the unfamiliar shimmer of cold air against bare skin. Every inch of her body prickled; she was stripped of her majestic coat, reduced to pale, vulnerable flesh. Confusion and terror mingled in her golden eyes as she tried to move, only to find her limbs stiff and weak.
A shrill, snickering laugh echoed from behind the counter. The hyena, clad in a checkered apron smeared with berry stains, gleamed with anticipation. "Oh, you’re finally up, sleepyhead. Perfect timing for my special recipe," the hyena crooned, brandishing a rolling pin like a scepter. The lioness tried to snarl, but her voice was a rasp, her strength sapped away.
She struggled against her restraints—nothing but frayed ropes knotted around her paws—but her body refused to obey. Panic surged as the hyena set out dough and a pie dish, humming an off-kilter lullaby. The lioness looked desperately around the room, searching for a weapon, a window, any escape, but found only the cold gaze of kitchen knives.
The hyena moved with practiced ease, his laughter bubbling over as he worked. "Don’t worry, darling. I promise you’ll be delicious—everyone will remember your flavor," he whispered, almost gentle, as he wrapped the lioness in a thick blanket of pastry. She's eyes, wide and wild, reflected the orange glow of the oven.
The lioness ceased her struggle, a profound weariness settling over her. In her final moments, she remembered the sun-warmed savanna, the taste of the wind, the rustle of grass beneath her paws. The hyena slid the pie dish into the oven, shutting the door with a satisfied sigh.
The hyena wiped his paws, whistling a tune only he seemed to know. "Dinner is served," he declared, his eyes glinting with triumph as he waited for the pie to cool. Outside, the world turned quietly on, unaware of the lioness’s last supper.
