Chapter 3: The Lady of Lace & LardersMadam Celeste Bustier was the Head of the Crystal Larder, a woman so imposing she could make a kitchen brigade snap to attention with a single, disapproving tug of her corset ces.

  She was the tallest, bustiest, and most extravagantly dressed woman in Bergspire, a walking monument to culinary refinement, draped in fur-trimmed silk robes lined with ce that shimmered like freshly fallen snow. And she hated Yulie. Mostly because Yulie had no talent for etiquette, fashion, or basic food preservation. Which is why, when Yulie burst into Madam Bustier’s private chambers, wild-eyed, flour-covered, and screaming about "sentient leftovers," the grand woman did not look pleased.

  Celeste turned slowly, setting aside her gold-threaded napkin, lifting a single, finely arched eyebrow.

  “Yulie.”

  “Madam Bustier, we have a problem.”

  Celeste took a slow sip of her imported Bustwood tea.

  “…Do we?”

  “Yes! The leftovers! They’re ALIVE! They’re coming out of the fridge! They’re trying to EAT people!”

  A long silence. Then Celeste exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her perfectly sculpted nose.

  “Yulie, have you been…” she gave her a delicate once-over, “…snacking on the fermented dumplings again?”

  Yulie threw up her hands.

  “Madam, for once in your perfectly corseted life, can you just BELIEVE ME? I am NOT hallucinating! The food has TURNED! The mayonnaise is hiding ABOMINATIONS! The quinoa is COMPROMISED! And the Sriracha—Madam, I don't even know what happened to the Sriracha but it's CURDLING in ways that should NOT BE POSSIBLE!"

  Celeste set her tea down with an air of weary exasperation.

  “If this is another one of your pranks-”

  Something smmed into the hallway door.

  A wet, sloshing, eldritch thud. Both women froze. The door handle rattled. Then, a low, gurgling moan.

  “Left… behind…”

  Yulie shot Celeste a meaningful look. Celeste’s expression remained unmoved, but her bust rose in a deep inhale, and Yulie saw something shift in her eyes. The Head of the Crystal Larder did not believe in foolishness. She did, however, believe in food safety. And this? This was an absolute viotion of culinary protocol. Celeste rose to her feet, her fur-lined robe billowing. She reached for the nearest ornate silver dle, twirling it between her fingers with deadly precision.

  “Yulie,” she said, her voice calm but steely.

  “…Fetch my best apron.”

  Yulie blinked.

  “…Your WHAT?”

  Celeste’s eyes glowed with righteous fury.

  “If food dares to rise against us… we shall remind it of its proper pce.”

  She tied her corset a notch tighter.

  “On a pte.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…Next Chapter:Can Yulie & Madam Bustier take down the Fridge Horror?

  What cursed leftovers are lurking deeper in the Crystal Larder?

  Will Celeste’s battle-apron have a cleavage window? (Signs point to yes.)