You wake up one morning, and feel something is off. Your pillow smells strangely sweet. You’re still groggy with sleep, and try to hug your pillow closer. A piece of it simply breaks in your hand. It is made of chocolate.
You try to pull the blanket off of yourself, and you realize that, it too, is made of chocolate.
You try to shake it off, and step out of bed. Your carpet feels strangely spongy. You look down, only to realize it’s actually cake. Lovingly baked, and smelling of sweet fruit. You grab a piece, and cautiously take a bite. It is one of the most delicious cakes you have ever eaten.
You get up, confused, and exit your room to see if the rest of your house is like this. The door handle melts in your hand as you hold onto it, and covers it with dark chocolate carefully painted gold.
The rest of the carpet on the floor is still cake, the guardrails on the stairs leading down are tempered chocolate, the tiles on the floor are the same, the windows are sugar glass, everything is edible.
You run outside, knocking over the lovingly crafted chocolate front door in a panic.
You realize, in horror, that your house was not an exception. The bushes, the grass, the asphalt on the road, the trees, birds, the world itself, is chocolate.
Somewhere, not too far away, stands a man. Amaury fucking Guichon.
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