They're a little unusual, to say the least—practically everything which made it out of Honey's kitchen on any given day was presented with a level of polish and pretty perfection which made them look almost unreal, like something out of a painting.
These? Well, t'was a mix: about a third of the heart-shaped biscuits and tartlets crafted to the usual caliber, while another equal portion was decorated rather... extravagantly, to say the least: three different colors of shimmery powder mixed into the icing, chocolate curls and tiny berries piled onto various (rough) corners, and all other manner of decoration scattered in wherever it might fit; and the remaining few were some combination of both design philosophies.
Honey doesn't explain, of course. Doesn't feel like she has to, and her incandescent smile remains as proud and radiant as ever... as does that of her sous-chef, loitering surreptitiously in the background ('peeking' with her whole head around the corner and hands still smattered with vibrant smudges of macerated fruit and frosting).
❝ I'm incredibly lucky to have had some help in putting together the right favor for the occasion. An honest-to-goodness labor of love. ❞
From two of the ladies who adored him most. Surely that made it twice as romantic.
Whoever imbued this woman with the depth of care and love to ensure he would be inundated with consumable gifts, they clearly thought and believed he could stand to drop his vicious diet. Surely, ever since he left the dungeon, the world had pushed against his efforts to remain rail thin. And he'd tried to go back. Perhaps that was his youngest daughter's design, to have him be tempted by the sweeter things in life, and let go of that regimen.
Her plan was realized when they made a turn into the valley, and suddenly, just around the bend was the bakery, and she had darted off to allow him time to tie off Belatina. Today, of all days, when everything was egregiously decorated in red and those with 'lesser sense' had decided to spend their pay on fancy fare and inns. The nobles would have their courtesans in wealthier parts of the land, thankfully far removed from wherever Chilchuck decided to drink.
And all he'd managed to get was a swathe of lilies, bundled in the cleanest paper he could buy at the market, before it was dirtiest by fish, or root vegetables. Perhaps, even as fae, she wouldn't be offended that a few flowers had been killed for her delight. Maybe they weren't as sensitive as Dryads, or Fauns. He had no crops to curse, barely trees around in the city of Kahka Brud.
Chilchuck's first bite of the luxurious sweet creates an insane greed, the kind starving men have for marrow. He was hit with clear instinct, that none should share this gift, and all others would suffer without the knowledge. Smooth, sweet, and a delicate crunch that couldn't crack the most delicate of teeth. An aged cat could devour one, he was sure.
When this urge passes, the least decorated are packaged with care, wrapped for those still working late hours at the guild. Anyone deemed worthy would recieve an anonymous sample near their belongings.
