There's a pounding in my skull.

That's the first thing that I'm aware of when my mind slowly resurfaces from a numbing darkness. My eyes flutter open to a room, that seems slightly tilted to the side.

Or maybe it's just me.

I'm lying on the wooden floor of a tiny shack, its walls lined with more wooden panels. Colors blur together atop the shelves. I blink twice, thrice. Slowly, the images crystalize into what appear to be pastries. Cakes and pies, cookies and scones, breads and rolls, it seems like the largest conglomeration of sweets I've ever seen in my life.

No. Not quite.

The room is familiar. I've been here before; I've seen all these sweets before.

Piece by piece, memories snap back into place.

I'm here to sell pastries to whoever comes to the pop-up bakery.

I come here every year, the same night under the same orange light gifted by the moon.

And I cannot, under any circumstances, consume the pastries myself.

I push myself upright, rubbing the side of my head. When my hand brushes a certain spot beneath my brown, bobbed hair, I wince in pain.

Must have hit my head or something.

I stabilize myself upright. My gaze travels over all the sweets, the loaves of lemon cake, shimmering with a sugar glaze, the bundles of cookies bursting with fruits that almost seem to glow in the dim lighting provided by a candelabra on a table in the back of the bakery. My eyes stop on a pie with a deep, glassy red filling. It's almost mesmerizing, the way the light reflects off the top. My stomach growls, and all I can think about is how much I want to eat it. Just one tiny slice.

Don't. Rule three. The most important rule of all.

I follow that whispering voice in my head. To distract myself, I head over to the table. The drawers are all empty when I pull them out, except for a metal chest to collect funds in. I place it on the table.

I should check outside.

I barely register the thought when I'm suddenly on my feet, striding across the room, pulling back the short purple drapes covering a small window in the door. Outside, people have lined up for a taste of what awaits inside the bakery. I open the door.

"We're open!" I exclaim.

People flood inside the room, grabbing all sorts of items from the shelves. I sit behind the desk as the customers throw money in the chest. There is barely enough time to count it all before they have already vanished, some already downing half of a cake or a pie before their feet hit the ground outside.

As I'm in the midst of counting the money rolling in, I notice a figure dart toward one of the shelves by the door. I look up fully just as she hides two chocolate breads in her coat. She ducks from the bakery before I can react.

Let her go.

I'm not sure why I'm not chasing after her. It seems counterintuitive. But there's something in my head convincing me that it isn't necessary, that it's better off to just sit here and count the incoming funds, rather than waste time chasing her down.

She probably needs the food, I reason with myself.

Soon, the flood of customers has lowered to rippling waves. These people seem to take longer browsing, perhaps because all the good items have already been taken.

A woman steps inside, slamming the door behind her. Her pointed gaze lands on me, before drafting to the other items around the room. I watch her, for some reason, as she drifts about, lifting up items, setting them back down, glancing around nervously, pulling her coat just a smidge tighter.

Finally, her hands clasp around a package of cinnamon buns. She brings it up to me. The plastic surrounding the pastries crinkles as she sets it down on the desk.

"Do... do you know anything about what's in this?" she asks.

"I'm sorry?" I can't remember ever being asked about ingredients in a product before.

"I've heard good things about this bakery." The woman wrings her hands. "Almost too good," she murmurs.

Although I'm not sure how the food is, I smile and say, "I'm sure you'll enjoy any of our products. Those cinnamon rolls look scrumptious."

They really do. The filling, almost more of a deep purple color in the candlelight, winks up at me. The pastry itself has a crystalline appearance, as if perfected from glass rather than made in a bakery. The longer I look at it, the cinnamon running in a precise swirl through the dough, promising the sweetest, most delicious flavor in every bite, makes my stomach growl once more.

"Yes, but..." Her brow furrows. "Doesn't it look... unnatural?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at it."

I am looking at it. All I can see is the golden light reflecting off the cinnamon rolls. Though I'm not touching it, warmth seems to rise like steam, not burning hot, but just enough to be like a comforting hug.

"It's a perfectly good cinnamon roll," I say.

She waits a beat. "It wouldn't be poisoned, would it?"

My thoughts snap back to the present. "Poisoned? Of course not."

The woman shifts. I can tell that she wants to purchase it, yet something seems to be stopping her.

"Would you... if you're sure, that is, would you mind tasting it with me, just so I can be sure?"

My mind goes blank. There's a block in my head, like I can't quite process what to do. Because I know that I'm not supposed to eat any pastries from the shop. If my somewhat scattered memory serves me, then I've never been allowed such a privilege.

But maybe that's just to prevent me from eating the bakery owners out of business, whoever they may be. Surely, if she's offering, and if all these other people are returning year after year, surely, it wouldn't hurt to take one tiny bite.

"If it will help you rest easy about your purchase, then sure."

The woman's fingers set to opening the package. I can see the eagerness in her movements, the way she practically rips the plastic apart. She tears it in half, giving me a slightly smaller portion.

I'll take what I can get.

My hands shake as I take the piece into my hand, a miniature cloud resting in my palm. I pop the entire piece into my mouth. The caremelized sugars are crunchy against the softest pastry I've ever had and taste like a mixture of Earth and Spring, rich spices cut by bright citrus and floral notes.

It is the most delicious thing I can remember tasting.

The room swirls around me, dim colors blending into each other.

The room goes dark. I blink.

Bright white light flashes in my vision against darkened tree trunks, and a chill surrounds me. I'm on the ground of a forest amidst shrubs, my palms pressed into soil and decaying leaves blanketing the ground.

Pain throbs in my skull, rendering the trees fuzzy. The world tilts to the side.

There's a... blankness in my mind. The trees, the trees. They shift and turn, zoom in and out.

Why am I here?

The thought hits me from the abyss.

What am I doing?

An invisible force tugs at me, and I grapple to stand upright. It draws me deeper into the forest, just me and the trees. I sway slightly to the side before catching myself.

Trees.

Why am I here?

I can't seem to remember what came before this. It's just...

The trees, the trees. They shift and morph into each other before splitting once more.

My head hurts. I just want the pain to stop. Why is there pain? Why is it just pain and trees? I don't understand; there's something I'm missing, right?

I try to search my memory but the pain fights back, constricting until I give up altogether.

A breeze blows past. I stumble with it, through the darkened forest. At the last moment, my vision splits, a tree materializing. I slam into it and sink to the ground, panting.

A crawling sensation begins on my skin. Slowly, my gaze trails down.

I scream.

Thick yellow worms squirm up my arms. I leap upright, desperately trying to shake them off. Yet they hold on, their tiny teeth latching onto my skin. The more I flail, the more the pain mounts as they repeatedly gnaw at my flesh.

Desperate, I grab the nearest fallen branch to try to pry them off. I wield the branch as if it were a sword, attempting to cut them away. And yet the branch seems to fly overtop the creatures.

Screams mount until I am surrounded by their echoes. My swings grow more wild, more desperate, yet are useless against the worms that continue to rise up my arms.

A shape lunges at me. I fly backward, dropping the branch on the ground as a woman appears, a dagger in hand. She raises her arm to plunge it into my heart.

Orange explodes.

It's just enough of a distraction for me to scramble away. My hand closes around a branch. The woman screams, running away from a fire that has started on the ground. But then her eyes flick to me. For the briefest moment, the lighting shifts. The trees flicker into a dim room, glowing with firelight.

Then back to the forest.

She charges. I race toward her in return. I bring the wooden branch down hard on her back with a crack. She howls, diving at me with the knife poised to strike my side. I block her blow with the branch before whacking it once more against her stomach. She stumbles backward, and I strike again, again.

On the third, she crumples.

I stand there, panting. The screams, some my own and some echoes, meld into one with the sound of the flames until all I hear is a deafening roar in my ears.

The trees flicker once more. That too bright moonlight warming into a hazy orange glow.

I'm suddenly too hot. Beads of sweat drip down my forehead, run down my arms. Or is that blood?

Fire.

There's fire, and I'm in a room, wooden walls lined with shelves sparsely occupied by items I can't make out.

Fire.

I stumble backward, away from a growing inferno that is consuming the chairs, the table, the floor, the walls...

Bakery.

The bakery!

Fear clutches at my heart. My pulse escalates to a gallop. All the customers are gone, and I am left with a raging fire that's about to consume the place.

I search the area for something, anything. No blankets, no water...

Curtains!

I tear the curtains down from the window and hurry to the fire, attempting to beat the flames out. Yet the fire continues to spread to the rest of the room. Desperation sets in as I frantically try to find a better solution. I can't let this place go up in flames. What would the owners think? What if the fire can't be tamed and spreads even further?

Although I can't think specifically about what might be nearby for it to destroy, I can guess that it can't be good.

My eyes land on the candelabra, lying on its side on the floor.

If I can just get rid of the source maybe it will be easier to control the flames.

Using the curtains to protect my hands, I nudge the candelabra's base upright. I exhale, one deep breathe to scatter the candles' flames. Smoke swirls in the fire's wake.

The smoke's darkness spreads, consuming me.