Rookie wandered the castle halls, his frosting-covered fingers trailing along the walls as he explored. It was still quiet—Beatrice was snoozing away on the sofa—and while the small castle wasn't particularly large, it was packed with oddities. Strange portraits, glittering artifacts, and shelves stuffed with books lined the rooms, each one brimming with mystery.
For the first ten minutes, Rookie amused himself by peeking into cabinets and pulling at loose threads in the carpet. But soon, boredom settled in. "How long does she sleep?" he muttered, glancing toward the living room. No movement.
He turned his attention to a towering bookshelf in the corner of the study. "Hmm," he mused, climbing onto a chair for a better view. His gumdrop eyes scanned the spines of the books, most of which were too dusty to read. Finally, he spotted one with a plain brown cover and gold lettering that simply read The Arcana Journals.
"Eh, why not," Rookie shrugged, pulling the book free. He opened it to the first page and began to read.
The story started simply. It described a woman who worked for an organization called Arcana, a place that seemed to blend bureaucracy and magic. Rookie squinted at the illustration of her—a sleek, no-nonsense woman who looked like she could manage a dozen meetings without breaking a sweat. She wore glasses, her dark hair tied in a tight bun, and her blouse and pencil skirt gave her an air of authority.
"Looks like some kind of secretary," Rookie muttered, flipping the page.
The next chapters recounted her daily tasks—delivering coffee, scheduling meetings, fetching snacks for her superiors. At first, Rookie found it dull, but the more he read, the more he started to notice the little details: how she'd quietly roll her eyes at pompous wizards, how she'd sneak cookies from the snack tray, how she seemed... tired. Not of the work, but of something deeper.
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Then, the entries abruptly stopped.
The final page of the journal was half-filled, the handwriting neat but hesitant. It hinted at her leaving Arcana, but didn't explain why. Rookie flipped the page, expecting more, but found only blank paper. It was as if the writer had simply lost interest or forgotten to continue.
Rookie frowned, tapping the blank page. "What kind of ending is that?"
He was about to dig further when he heard a faint groan from the living room. He glanced at a nearby clock—a bit surprised to realize twenty minutes had passed since he started reading.
"Oh no," Rookie whispered, hurriedly closing the book. He shoved it back onto the shelf, making sure it was exactly where he'd found it. "She'll think I was messing with her stuff!"
He rushed to the living room, where Beatrice was slowly sitting up, stretching and yawning like she hadn't just slept through a minor apocalypse. Her white hair was slightly tousled, and she blinked at Rookie with her blank, milky eyes.
"You're still here?" she asked, stifling a yawn.
"Well, yeah," Rookie said, shifting nervously. "I mean, you promised me more cake, remember?"
Beatrice rubbed the back of her neck. "Right, cake. Sure, but you've gotta do me a favor first."
Rookie's gumdrop nose twitched. "A... favor?"
"Yeah." Beatrice stood, brushing dust off her white dress. "Follow me to the fountain."
The gingerbread man's frosting went cold. "The... the fountain?"
"Yeah," Beatrice said casually, walking toward the door. "I want to check something. Don't worry, it won't bite."
Rookie swallowed hard, hesitating before following her. Deep down, he remembered the chaos he'd unleashed the last time he messed with that fountain. His tiny legs quivered as he trailed after Beatrice, silently wondering if his craving for cake was worth the risk.
As the two stepped outside, Rookie glanced nervously at the fountain in the distance. Its glowing waters bubbled innocently, but to Rookie, it might as well have been a dragon's lair. "This can only end well," he muttered to himself.