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She held the Mooney Pye in both hands and dove in.
It tasted like … wax. Like a waxy reminder of what chocolate was supposed to taste like. And under that taste? Stale sugar cookies. Then her teeth and tongue reached the marshmallow center, which tasted like … clay.
She spat the mouthful of Moony Pye into the garbage and wiped her tongue with her hand.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but that is terrible.”
And yet, as she wiped the last bits of chocolate coating from her lips, she found herself craving another bite. There was something about that Moony Pye that made Rose want to dive in for more. “Weird,” she said. “It was awful, but I still kind of want to eat it.”
“I love them,” Marge said gravely, that creepy smile returning to her face. “But I could love them even more. That’s where you come in, Rose. It is for you to make them better.” At the word “better,” she clasped her hands together.
“Better?” Rose said, flabbergasted. How was she supposed to make this thing better when it wasn’t even good to start with?
“Our previous director of the FLCP Development Kitchen,” said Marge, “she liked to be called the Directrice – was in the middle of tweaking the recipe. But tragically, she never finished!” Marge took a rubber-banded stack of recipe cards from her pocket and handed the top one to Rose. A recipe had been handwritten on it in a beautiful cursive using a rich purple ink. “This is as much as she was able to do.”
In the corner of the card was an embossed picture of a rolling pin, with beams of light radiating out from the center. It looked familiar, but Rose couldn’t think where she’d seen that radiant rolling pin before.
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