The divine beam of light slowly faded, leaving behind a kitchen that looked like a battlefield decorated for brunch. Crumbs drifted lazily down like snowflakes with gluten issues. Pots and pans lay overturned, groaning. A heroic egg shell stood upright for reasons no one understood. And at the center, gleaming like a sacred relic forged by a caffeinated god, hovered the Holy Club Sandwich.
The survivors stared at it, mouths open.
Lucien touched his chest dramatically. "Darling… it's beautiful. If I were not already emotionally exhausted, I would faint."
Mint Chip sighed. "I think I already melted. Again."
The cosmic sandwich hovered between them all, rotating slowly as if showing off its best angles for a heavenly food magazine. The final dollop of whipped cream gleamed atop its summit like a snowy promise of dessert after diplomacy.
