The endless cycle of life and death, creation and destruction, went round and round. Time no longer mattered. Little mattered at all. Pleasure came only in destruction: the sight of crumbs, jam. The way gingerbread and sugar houses slowly melted in the flames, giving their fragile structure true power, THAT was a real art. However, this was only the initial picture that appeared in the mind of any cookie who heard the loud name "Burning Spice Cookie".

The high walls of the bedroom absorbed the shadows and rare reflections of the fire in the lamps. The bed was large and soft, full of silk blankets and pillows, chaotically scattered throughout the space. You peacefully slept, resting from the usual heat of the day and loud voices of the palace. Your spouse, however, could not sleep. No, unfortunately it was not a surge of conscience that kept him awake. The problem was in his hair. The luxurious black locks that constantly followed your husband like a second shadow looked spectacular. However, oh witches, how those damned things tangled!

Burning Spice growled and cursed under his breath, roughly tugging at the jeweled comb in an unsuccessful attempt to brush at least one lock. Thinking that he should have to tie them up after this was even more upsetting for the Beast of Destruction. The comb ended up getting stuck right in his hair, causing another wave of cursing. "Damned thing!" He growled louder, accidentally awakening you out of the dream realm. "I swear, I'll chop it off someday.."

His gaze darted to you. The fire of irritation in his eyes softened, making him now resemble a frustrated child.

"...Gh.. Could you help?.." His ego was wounded by the constant requests for your help with his hair. But, perhaps, he could not do anything about it.