Priscia was a chef.

Not a great one—at least not in her opinion—but the only one in the camp.

So really, she had no idea why the honored prince would throw her to the wolves like this. To put her in front of the most dangerous thing in the camp. What had she done to deserve her current post? Did she make his last serving of steak too well-done? Or did her fish soup have an extra pinch of salt that soured his mood? Was it the Astalonian lemon in the garnish? Or the sea-grown blue rice from Ibbeathis?

She didn’t know.

Saer Halcyn had never complained to her. He only ever smiled that pleasant smile of his—but she’d heard stories of the Bloodthorn Prince. The contracted champion of the Summersky House’s patron guardian. His personal employees never lasted a month under his banner. They were always fired—removed for reasons unknown. Priscia didn’t know what kind of disapproving thoughts lurked behind the prince’s gentle smile. Surely, he had some, right?

All royalty had things to whine about. That was part of the package.

Was she good enough in his eyes? Or a disappointment? She certainly was, compared to her teacher. He’d called in sick—but was he really? It seemed like he’d just dumped the troublesome work onto her. Now, she was here, unsure of everything. All of her skills seemed to vanish the moment she found out that she’d been serving a saer, of all people.

So she’d botched it. She definitely did. Somewhere, somehow, she’d ruined the esteemed prince’s meal. That was probably why he’d left her with her current task—one that she was destined to fail.

To serve her food to an eldritch monstrosity.

She thought it was just a new weapon designed by the Blight Witch at first. But it wasn’t a simple poison or mindless alchemical slime like she’d thought. No, this thing was different. It could speak.

And it spoke as if it had nothing to fear.

Priscia had watched the monster over the past day. She’d watched it loom over saer Halcyn and the Sunchaser Lion, speaking to them like equals. And worse still, the prince looked uncomfortable at the things it said. Perhaps even afraid. And when the thing laughed and slapped the prince in the back with a tentacle, Priscia had gasped.

The Bloodthorn of the Summersky House did not suffer such disrespect. So why was the creature still alive?

She could only guess the reason.

But one way or another, it was above the prince. It had something over him. Something that allowed the thing to stay in their midst, using up all their food stores. Was saer Halcyn afraid of its power? It didn’t seem like an ally to them. No, it felt like a force of nature—one that the treasured saer had no choice but to bow to. She’d seen the prince look troubled around it. She saw him speak in hushed whispers with the Lion in his cat form, glancing at the monster as if worried it would lose control of its hunger and kill them all. Then she saw the monster hug them without asking. Wrap them in its tentacles, as if ready to eat. And she’d seen it eat. Everyone in the camp had.

This morning, the creature had waltzed into the battlefield and cleared the blighted all by itself.

And the Crimson Tide didn’t stand a chance.

She’d seen it explode into a maelstrom of claw, horn, and teeth. It tore into the corruption. Devoured it. The whole forest seemed to stir at its appearance, sending out the blighted in waves that their cannons wouldn’t be able to handle by themselves. But the creature didn’t care. It shredded the things that left the trees—ate them before the blighted earth could recycle them.

With every monster felled, the creature only grew. It became as large as a house. Then larger, still. It swept over the ground like a tidal wave of darkness, lashing bladed tentacles through the trees and cutting vast swathes of blight apart.

No monsters survived. And for the first time in two weeks, the Crimson Tide stopped its assault on the encampment.

How couldn't it?

The creature had devoured them faster than they could spawn.

The soldiers had come to call it the Black Death, after that. The Devourer. It had terrified every single person in the camp.

And the worst part? The creature was disappointed that the blight had stopped coming. It wanted the carnage to continue. It wanted a slaughter without end. It had come to the prince, calling him ‘beardy guy’ in front of the soldiers. And it told him to send the Shissavi to it next.

Its words plunged the camp’s morale into icy water.

Especially after the prince agreed.

Three hours had passed since then, and malicious rumors filled the camp. Had the prince asked for the help of a Demon? If so, what did he trade? His soul? His country? His House’s treasures?

Or did he trade in the souls of his men?

Soon, they would find out. Once the Shissavi were sent into the monster’s den. But not before her. She was the first sacrifice. Priscia, the dainty little amarid chef, with her flower-lined yellow hair and her cute button nose and big, orange eyes.

The perfect choice for a monster’s appetizer.

She stood outside of its quarters now, waiting to be sacrificed. The terrifying building that it called home loomed over her. It took the shape of a vast, druid-crafted tree home, with a broad-leafed canopy stretching far overhead. Much the same as the other buildings in the camp, except this house had no windows. It had no exits; only an entrance that doubled as one. And over the massive doors grown into the tree, the monster had raked its claws over the wood to write a set of three, terrible words.

THE HAPPY ROOM, it said.

Priscia didn’t feel very happy when she looked at it.

How could she? The monster was going come out of its big scary house and eat her food with its big scary mouth. Then it would probably eat her, next. There was nothing happy about that.

But Priscia had a trick up her sleeve.

Poison. One she’d stolen from the Blight Witch herself.

It had been easy to nab in the distraction—from a stray cart that was being wheeled out from her lab. She’d emptied the entire capsule over her cauldron, watching as the alchemical mixture changed the soup into an unsuspecting blue shade. Her lower lip trembled as she glanced at the bowl where it now was. Right in the center of the table she’d arranged outside.

The poison was her last hope. And perhaps she’d be able to save herself with it. She’d be able to save everyone in the camp, including the prince that had made the mistake of asking for the creature’s help.

The Blight Witch’s toxins may have been ineffective against the blight as a whole, but against one creature?

She was confident. Not even the Black Death could survive the witch’s poison.

Priscia hid her trembling fingers behind her back and waited.

It didn’t take long for the monster to emerge.

The door to the tree home opened, and a black ocean began to spill out. Undulating, flowing like tar and ash water. She watched the entirety of it flow out and rise. Up into a titanic flood of eyes, teeth, and dark slime, towering over thirty feet tall and standing half as wide. Its hundred eyes moved individually, scanning the camp.

Priscia couldn’t help but shudder as half of them settled on her. Standing underneath its shadow seemed to make the world colder—darker. Like even the darkness it cast was looking to devour her soul.

It looked at her food, her measly offerings. The feast she’d cooked was enough to feed a hundred men. Vast cauldrons of soups and plated roasts, lines of meats and pastries and fruit. Each served perfectly. The scents formed a harmony in the air—an enticing mixture of savory, sweet, and spicy, all mingling. The shoggoth’s many mouths smiled at the sight, and Priscia watched as it began to shrink.

It was an impossible sight. The creature compressed into a six-foot mass of black slime, eyes and mouths closing one by one until none remained. Priscia watched in fascinated horror as it grew arms. Then legs, splitting the bottom of its mass. A head sprouted from the creature and the slime cascaded down from it—long enough to reach the ground. Tar-black hair, made of what looked like liquid shadow. Dark as night and deep as void. She watched the creature open two eyes. Then a nose. A mouth. She watched it change its features, refining them—constantly shifting.

For a moment, it almost looked like her. But it kept changing, adapting, taking on the features of a thousand faces and sculpting them into a perfect whole. Clothes sprouted from its skin and took on color, just as the rest of it did.

Fair skin and bright, violet eyes. A loose, white tunic and a dark corset. Then a long skirt. Tights. Boots. Buttons and strings next, turning golden under the sun.

In those few seconds, the creature had gone from uncanny to real. A person.

And that was terrifying.

Priscia took a step back, pale, as the monster began to walk towards her. It was tall. Six feet. Priscia found herself cornered, the table at her back, and the monster in front. She felt her heart thunder in her chest as a realization crept forward.

It was going to eat her first. The shoggoth loomed over her and grinned a smile full of daggerpoint teeth. Priscia gulped.

“…Did you make all this?” it asked.

She nodded.

“Y-Yes ma’am.”

“Without any help?”

“N… None,” she replied, keeping her gaze down. Trying not to provoke it. “I-I’m the only cook in the camp. For saer Halcyn.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

Priscia gave a short nod, and the conversation died in awkward agony. Silence hung like a thick curtain over them both. Priscia stared at her feet, fidgeting, feeling its gaze on her.

Ancestors, what now?

As glad as she was that the thing hadn’t just eaten her, the danger was still present. It could kill her at any second. It was being nice now, but the moment it got bored, she was dead. So Priscia gathered her courage and motioned to the side, forcing the trembling of her voice down with a gulp, “…Do you want to try the food, ma’am?”

A moment of silence passed before the creature grinned.

“I’d love to.”

It moved past her, straight for the food. The shoggoth reached forward and tore a leg off of the roast turkey. Priscia winced at the sight of tearing meat and she moved to the side, watching the creature eat. Waiting. She saw it bite into a fruit and smile, delighting in the taste. It turned its eyes to her and grinned.

“This is delicious,” it said, before wincing. The creature stuck out a tongue, “Way better than those icky things outside the walls. Those are gross.”

“...Yes, ma'am.”

“What did you use to make these taste so nice?”

“Um, spices, ma'am. I marinated the turkey in honey and herbs.”

“What kind? Like the ones growing on the ground?”

“Er—I, yes. Khemi and rhemrie and blazeweed. Then a touch of lemon and cappela.”

Nodding, the creature seemed to become encouraged by her replies. Its eyes shone and it beamed, biting into one of the desserts and laughing. “Sweet! What’s this food called? It’s really good!”

Priscia couldn’t help but stand a little straighter at that. The glaze-lathered pastry was one of her favorites.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s a dessert from my hometown called planna. The glaze and filling are a local specialty.”

“The fruits in it are really good! Blueberry, right?”

“Yes. But I also threw in a, um, dash of crushed almond and a teaspoon of milk. I baked it in with the honey and berry filling—it isn’t too sweet, is it?”

“It’s perfect,” the shoggoth said, looking up at her with a bright grin. “You’re amazing!”

Priscia blushed, “I-I’m not really that goo—”

“—Can you teach me how to cook some of these?”

The young chef blinked at her, incredulous. Priscia pointed a finger to herself, “Me?” she asked. “Teach you how to cook?”

The shoggoth nodded, smiling, “Yeah! Your food is great,” it said. Moving away from the table, it approached her and offered a hand. “My name’s Aami, by the way. Nice to meet you!”

Priscia hesitated, but took the hand. She spoke softly, “…I’m Priscia. Hello, Aami. I can teach you a bit about cooking, if you’ll take me.”

“Is it okay if I ask you to be my friend, Priscia?”

“Um… I don’t mind if you ask.”

“Okay!” Aami said, nodding quickly. She grabbed Priscia’s hand with both of hers and hesitated. The eldritch abomination gave her a sheepish smile, “Um. Can the two of us be friends, then? If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

Aami nodded, sighing in relief. Priscia felt her palms grow sweaty with nervousness under the shoggoth’s grip. She hesitated.

“Can you let go of my hand, Aami? I’m getting sweaty.”

“Oh,” it replied, letting go. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Silence again. Feeling the awkwardness grow thick, Priscia sucked in a breath through her teeth. She motioned to the table of food with her eyes.

“…Do you want to talk about the food some more?”

“Drat, sorry. I’ve been ignoring the food you worked so hard to make. Wait, come on,” Aami said, pulling her forward. Priscia sputtered, panicking as it brought her to the table. It gave her a sheepish grin, “I feel bad eating just by myself, so…”

Priscia nervously eyed the poisoned soup at the center of the table, “You want me to eat with you?”

“Um, yes. But you don’t have to if you don’t wanna! It’s okay.”

“N-No! I’m pretty hungry too, so…” Priscia scratched the back of her head, “Let’s eat.”

Aami smiled happily at that, instantly offering her the turkey leg she was chewing on just a minute ago. Priscia stared at the bite mark on it and hesitated. But Aami was staring at her, full of eager energy. She couldn’t say no. Taking the turkey leg, Priscia took a bite out of the other side and handed it back.

“It’s good,” she said, chewing. Priscia swallowed and frowned down at the meat, “But I should’ve roasted it for longer. The flavor’s not as strong because I was in a rush.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wasn’t able to baste it for long enough—the marinade hasn’t fully soaked into it.”

“Baste? What’s that?”

She grinned, “It’s—”

Priscia found herself explaining it to the shoggoth, and the creature seemed to be a bundle of curiosity. It asked her question after question, eyes shining with every answer. Priscia indulged it at first—answering cautiously, careful not to talk over it too much. Her teacher always told her to shut up more—that being a chatterbox only annoyed all the important clients.

But as they talked, Priscia ended up responding more and more. Longer replies. More active responses. Thirty minutes into the conversation, ranting over the difference between ballas weed and blastweed, she paused.

She was enjoying herself. Just how long had she been smiling for?

Aami tilted its head her way, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…”

Priscia looked up at the shoggoth’s face. She met its eyes again; saw brightness in the way that it looked at her and everything around it. How it seemed to grin at everything, cherishing every moment it had. Just enjoying the world for everything that it was. Such a wonderful, happy thing. And here she was, trying to poison it.

Her gaze moved to the bowl of soup in the middle of the table. Then back to Aami. Priscia closed her eyes and released a breath—Ancestors, she was the monster here. She was the idiot.

It was a cook’s biggest shame to cook bad food on purpose.

And she’d gone and laced hers with poison.

Priscia stood up.

In front of the shoggoth’s eyes, she grabbed the bowl of soup and raised it up high. Then she threw it—as far as she could. The bowl bounced off a stone and spilled its contents all over the soil. The grass around it died on contact. They withered into black little husks, spreading taint over the ground, killing it.

Aami stared at the patch of poisoned soil. Priscia turned to the shoggoth and bowed her head. She closed her eyes. Whatever came next, it was on her.

“I tried to poison you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”