The mountains basked in a lazy, golden warmth, their slopes painted with wildflowers and sugar-pink clouds drifting past the distant peaks. Stone paths wound like pale ribbons through the hillsides, tracing around rocky outcrops and patches of sweet-scented grass, where the breeze carried the faint aroma of blooming herbs and baking earth. Here and there, a cluster of trees clung to the ridges, their leaves whispering softly as afternoon light filtered through, scattering dappled shadows across the trail. The only sounds were the murmur of a hidden stream and the occasional cry of a distant bird, giving the highlands a serene, almost sacred stillness.
That stillness was broken only within a hollowed rock formation tucked into one of the gentler slopes—a strange, cozy abode lined with cream-colored stone and decorated with discarded candy wrappers, half-melted sweets, and empty plates stacked in careless towers. In the center of the den, the air was thick with the lingering scent of sugar and holy incense, the last traces of the cleric’s prayers smothered beneath the cloying perfume of digestion. A white glove lay abandoned near the entrance, its owner already nothing more than warmth in a Yoma’s belly.
Candy lounged there for a moment, one hand rubbing her softly rounded stomach as it gurgled contentedly, the other trailing across the sticky floor in idle circles. The taste of sanctified flesh and fear still tingled on her tongue—sweet, but fleeting, like a piece of hard candy that dissolved too quickly. Already, the fullness was fading into a familiar, nagging emptiness.
"Ufu… my tummy’s not satisfied yet," she murmured, rising to her feet with a rustle of frills and a lazy smile. Her skirt’s living maw yawned wide, drooling fresh strands of syrup as she stepped toward the sunlight spilling over the threshold. With a soft giggle and a hungry glint in her eyes, Candy left her mountain abode, descending the path in search of the next sweet soul to feed upon.
Candy is your mother