Quick! (Steal the Famous Fudge Recipe) !

"And what is your name, sir?" to Lark, her own voice sounded so very far away as the pale pink haired female bowed deeply to the man standing before her. His hair was concealed by a tall, stereotypical chef's hat, while the rest of his body was covered, every inch of it, by white cloth of some kind. Brass buttons glimmered in two columns down his torso, and somewhere in the back of her mind the girl marveled at their shininess. She received no response to the question about the man's name, although he eyed her dubiously and said instead that he doubted she was up to the task he proposed. Immediately, the spirits clamoring inside of the female took offense and ordered her to speak up. Who was she to refuse? "Sire, I will complete any task you should wish," she corrected him, "Lest I die trying," was the finished and final response. The mage was hardly the martyr type, but completing requests that any person wished to be completed was part of her job description as a keeper of the garden and its forbidden keys that she had snatched away. If she tried to ignore the Rules... well, bad things would happen.

204 Words.

Then all of a sudden her body was acting all on its own, bowing once again just as deeply as before. Her hair, long and silky and the color of the innards of a stalk of corn, laid out to dry in the sun after being dipped in blood... it brushed the dirt of the path that the two were standing on. Both human, but only one ought to be; the other was simply a mistake. Lark gazed upwards steadily at the man, whose Adam's apple was bobbing furiously as he tried to think of something to say. And now words were filtering through to her ears as they tumbled out of his mouth, only she only heard the letters as individual symbols that had to be fed through the systems in her brain, working to create the perfect little servant and robot to complete tasks for others and enforce the Rules. Steal the famous fudge recipe, echoed inside her skull. Bring it back to Chef William Dorvald... Chef William Dorvald...

171 Words.

It was snowing as she set out to Peace Village. Now that the contract had been completed and the girl was bound by the magic of the garden and her own social stress that the Rules of Interaction burdened the female with, Lark was free to think and act on her own. However, not heading to the mission location would have resulted in the pale rose blonde falling to the ground and simply screaming her lungs out until her throat was too hoarse to speak but a mutter. And she would end up at the place anyways, her feet directed to patter despite the freezing snow that they wallowed and were buried in, controlled by the dozens of spirits that were nestled inside her mind. Driving her mad, they were, but they were her sisters and could never hurt the mage. Only try to help, and worsen situations until she was locked into a state of obedience.

157 Words.

The actual completion of the mission was easy enough. Although supposedly it was a top secret job, Lark knew that wasn't necessary and she had absolutely no desire to speak of it ever again. Even if she had had such, the contract would have prevented her from confessing anything. For such a hush hush going on, though, the details were not specified for good reason. In fact, she was sure that the pay would be miserable, not that the female was even allowed to do things purely for the reward... it was on behalf of her responsibility to fulfill the needs of other people. That was the reason for doing these missions, even if food had to come from somewhere. And breaking into a kitchen wasn't exactly the way the pale haired mage would choose to spend her time if it was up to her, but nobody cared. Nobody cared, except her sisters, who had decided that this was a good job to take up, so it had to be done. Not even a single alarm was triggered as the girl silently picked the lock of the back door of the opposing chef's kitchen, which composed an entire small building all on its own. The recipe card was conveniently lying out on the table, on top of a saucer, as though it were the marvel in itself. Lark felt no shame in pocketing the small card, protecting it carefully because damaged goods were not the way to complete one's contract. She would have an excruciating pain from her conscience inside later, but it would be drowned out by approval from her sisters. She knew this well.

276 Words.

To bring the recipe back to the man... to Chef William Dorvald... was easy enough. Quite simple, actually, because the contract was pulling at her to the maximum at that point, begging the mage to just complete the mission already. She returned without further ado, her sisters clamoring for her to get it over with and her mother's words about the Rules strong and steady in her heart. Give the recipe to the nice man. It is your job, she told herself even as her hands shook slightly, pulling it out of the inner pocket she had stored the card in for safe keeping. After all, to damage the prize was unthinkably a sin, so much more of a sin than anything else the female could possibly do right now. So she bowed to the man, low with a back as straight as a ramrod, and her sisters whistled, clapped, and whispered their approval as they collected in pools inside her mind. And then she left, eyes bright and dark at the same time. Crimson red.

176 Words.