Beatrice yawned as she approached her home, a quaint little castle nestled on the outskirts of the chaos she'd just left behind. It wasn't much—barely big enough to house a throne room, a kitchen, and her perpetually messy bedroom—but it had charm. She liked it precisely because it wasn't grand or imposing.

The towering spires of ancient castles were overrated anyway. Who needed all that upkeep?

She pushed open the creaky wooden door and kicked off her shoes. "Ah, finally," she muttered. "Peace, quiet, and..." She sniffed the air. "Wait, am I out of snacks?"

Before she could delve into that tragedy, a distant roar shattered her serenity. Beatrice froze, a bead of sweat forming on her temple.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she groaned, trudging to the nearest window. Peering out, she saw a truly bizarre sight: a massive, glimmering Gingerbread Fairy Dragon soaring toward the city. Its cinnamon-dusted wings flapped lazily, and its gumdrop eyes sparkled with mischief. Perched on its back were two cooks in oversized chef hats, each brandishing rolling pins like medieval maces.

"You're ruining my nap!" Beatrice shouted into the open air, her voice carrying despite the distance. "Why does everyone have to be so extra today?"

The dragon roared again, a plume of sweet-smelling smoke wafting from its frosted snout.

"Boss," one of the cooks said to the other, nudging him. "Is that girl yelling at us?"

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The second cook squinted down at the floating figure in the distance. "She's probably crazy. Just ignore her. Let's get to the city and—"

Beatrice, now floating midair in a lazy, cross-legged position, cut them off. "Listen, I really don't care why a sentient cookie dragon and two wannabe pastry chefs are headed to the city. But can you, I don't know, not?"

The cooks exchanged a glance.

"Yeah, definitely crazy," the first one muttered. Then he pointed his rolling pin toward her. "Ginger! Attack!"

The dragon bellowed, opening its jaw to unleash a stream of molten caramel at Beatrice.

She sighed. "Alright. Fine."

Raising a single finger, Beatrice flicked it lazily toward the dragon. At first, nothing seemed to happen. A minuscule particle of fire—barely visible—shot forward.

The cooks grinned smugly, expecting their creation to brush off the attack.

And then the world went white.

A wave of energy surged outward with an earsplitting boom, obliterating the dragon in an instant. The fiery shockwave spread like wildfire, consuming mountains, forests, and deserts in its wake. For 200,000,000 kilometers in every direction, the land was reduced to a smoldering, glassy wasteland.

Beatrice floated back down to the ground, brushing ash from her dress. "See? That's what you get for interrupting my snackless boredom."

The two cooks were still standing, miraculously unharmed but entirely stunned. Their rolling pins clattered to the ground as they gaped at the horizon—or what little remained of it.

"Um," one cook said, his voice trembling. "You know what? Maybe... maybe being a chef isn't for us."

The second nodded slowly, sweat dripping down his face. "Yeah. Maybe we try... accounting?"

Beatrice strolled past them without a second glance. She pushed open the door to her castle, muttering under her breath, "Dragons made of cookies. What's next? An ice cream hydra?"

Shaking her head, she closed the door behind her. It creaked loudly, then clicked shut.

And the world, once again, became a little quieter. For now.