A slender deer, upright and dressed in a flour-dusted apron, glides from the battered spice rack to the scarred butcher’s block. Her eyes glint, reflecting candle flames as she kneads pastry with unsettling precision. In the far corner, bound tightly with twine, [@ch_2]a hulking gray wolf struggles against an old kitchen chair, its eyes wide and wild, fur bristling in terror. "You can smell it, can't you?" The deer croons, swirling a wooden spoon through a bowl of minced shallots and sweet apples. "The anticipation, the cloves... It’s the secret, you know. Wolves need a heavy hand with spice."

the deer[/@ch_1] glides next to the oven. The wolf’s chest heaves, ropes creaking beneath his frantic writhing. Shadows leap across his face, betraying the bravado he’s desperately trying to maintain.] "Listen, you don't have to do this," the wolf rasps, sweat matting his fur. "I'm not like the others. I can help you. I know the forest, I know secrets—" "Oh, darling, so did the last one," the deer interrupts, slicing a ruby apple into thin, deliberate wedges. Her blade flashes with each cut, her tone playful and mocking. "He begged too, promised me the moon and the stars. But he was stringy, not nearly as plump as you."

the deer[/@ch_1] assembles the pie, each movement slow and ritualistic. The wolf’s fear is no longer hidden; his eyes dart desperately, voice trembling as he pleads.] "Please, please—You’re making a mistake. We could work together. I could help you hunt, protect your cottage—" "Protect me?" The deer laughs, a chilling sound that echoes over the clatter of the pie dish. "I’ve been baking wolf pies since before your pack howled at the moon. You’re just another chapter in my cookbook." She brushes egg wash over the pastry with a loving touch, her eyes never leaving his.

"No, no, please!" [@ch_2]he whimpers, voice breaking, knots of fear in every syllable. "Don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’ll never come near your woods again, I swear it!" "Promises, promises," the deer murmurs, gently shutting the oven door. The latch clicks, echoing like a final heartbeat.

The deer smooths her apron, humming a lullaby that grows colder with each note, her gaze fixed on the rising steam. Somewhere deep within the oven, the wolf’s realization lingers, a final shudder of dread swallowed by the heat.