The kitchen was my fortress, and the rolling pin was my weapon.

I worked with a manic intensity, channeling all the fear, confusion, and adrenaline from the village into the dough. Fold. Roll. Chill. Repeat.

I knew what they were now. Or at least, I suspected. The glowing eyes in the diner, the inhuman size of the guards, the "beasts" in the woods... it all pointed to one terrifying conclusion.

I was cooking for monsters.

But monsters had to eat, too. And if I wanted to survive long enough ...