Chapter 37
The first confectioner’s tree, the one said to have vanished beneath the earth, had bloomed again. A single golden flower pierced the surface of the black lake. It had come back to life.
The traveling confectionery of a certain pink-haired girl was in full swing.
She had renamed it A & N, in honor of a certain Aignan and Nyla, with a sculpted lamb’s head adorning its sign.
Children rushed to it, many of them wearing the small horn of the black lamb in homage to the shop’s mascot: a heroic lamb whose eternal star shone in the skies, guarding pure hearts.
Never again were black lambs used in sorcerers’ experiments, thanks to the cutting warning of a certain Mist Sorcerer.
Though rehabilitated, his fearsome reputation alone was enough to dissuade anyone from defying this new order, under penalty of suffering his shadowed wrath.
Rumors of the confectionery had spread from village to village. A wandering miracle, some said, traveling from kingdom to kingdom, offering sucre d’or pastries so enchanting that those who tasted them found themselves inexplicably happier, their hearts soothed and healed.
Now, the shop bore a new turret on its third floor: a space reserved for that infamous sorcerer, frequently summoned to the newly crowned king’s court.
For, despite himself, as sorcerer of the Forbidden Forest, he found himself burdened with certain political responsibilities he would gladly have handed off to his will-o’-the-wisp butler.
There, the Cursed could live in peace. None dared to venture in, for it was said his cold, cynical aura still haunted the place.
He also hunted down any sorcerer, human or Cursed, who dared threaten the happiness of those he cherished.
For in every story, there must always be a monster.
And if it meant that no other would bear that role, he accepted it willingly.
Far less friendly than the confectioner, his reputation remained so icy that it was still uncertain whether he was a heroic sorcerer or simply a villain to be feared.
But this shop was not defined only by its legends. Above all, it was a home, full of vivid characters:
— éclair, a Cursed turned apprentice confectioner, still struggled to master the sucre d'or.
But he was enthusiastic, always ready to help, greeting each customer with a cheerful “Idiot!” in homage to his lamb companion who had taught him the art of politeness.
Because, in this confectionery, all dreams were possible.
— Chouquette, the cashier, managed the shop’s treasury, though she had the unfortunate habit of nibbling half the gold coins.
— Yeun, the butler, ensured everything functioned perfectly. He lit up the shop at night, taught courtesy to the Cursed, and supervised the staff from atop his ostrich—who, at times, handled disciplining the unruly apprentices.
— Lempicka, the owner, always left a box of sweets on the doorstep. Every morning, it vanished, emptied of its contents. Not out of duty. She simply loved making others happy.
The confectionery was already on its way again, bound for another kingdom. But the destination did not matter. Wherever it went, it left behind a trail of light and sweetness.
So if one evening you open your window at twilight, you may perhaps glimpse this magical shop. Its lamb-shaped legs stepping softly, its butterfly wings (an eccentricity of the sorcerer who guarded it) unfolding across the sky.
And on its terrace, where a vast golden apple tree bloomed, you might just make out two silhouettes: lovers, carried by the wind, exchanging a kiss while the world rolled by beneath their feet.