You wad the note and step across the border. Your boot sinks deep into the sponge and frosting surface. Ahead: artificial light glints on multihued icing coating structures and spires all the way to the horizon. Hidden loudspeakers blast French Pastry Themes. Artur Frenchpastry, legendary Knight, is enshrined here, his howling corpse grasping at nothing, sinking into sugared mire a little more each year. You collect his jawbone. After thirty days of walking, you reach the village where the Festival of Cakes is to be held. |