Box of Chocolates – The Anthology Tale

     The night was thick with autumn chill, and the campfire burned low in the clearing outside the Chocolate Factory. Its flames danced against the shadows, casting long shapes across the circle of Neopets who had gathered there. Beyond the circle of firelight, the looming silhouette of the factory rose like a blackened cathedral, its tall chimneys breathing out endless plumes of steam that drifted across the moon. Every so often, a faint bubbling sound seemed to drift from within the walls, or perhaps it was only the listeners’ imagination.

     Quigcole the Quiguski sat with her phone aglow, only half listening, while the raspy croaks of Nev, her elderly Mortog companion, broke the silence now and then. She barely looked up, her face lit in ghostly blue by her screen. Lisha the Aisha tore open a candy bar and nibbled absentmindedly, her eyes reflecting the firelight as though it were trapped inside them. Across from them, Ganache the Chocolate Bori leaned forward, his glossy shell catching every spark, his gaze heavy and unblinking. He stirred the fire once with a stick, then let the silence hang so long that it seemed to press against their ears.

     The night air smelled faintly of roasted sugar from the Factory’s vents, mingled with the sharp scent of smoke. Somewhere in the distance, a Weewoo cried, its echo twisting strangely in the wind. The ground beneath them seemed to hum ever so faintly, as though the bubbling vats within the Factory never truly rested. None of them spoke of it, but each could hear it.

     It was Nev who broke it. “Perchance,” he said, voice crackling like the fire itself, “we might pass the time with chilling tales. An anthology of sorts, stories whispered on All Hallows Eve, when the veil betwixt sweet and sinister grows thin.”

     He cleared his throat, his ancient voice dragging at the words. “Mayhap such tales shall keep the shadows from drawing too near… or perhaps they shall invite them closer.”

     Quigcole snorted but did not object. Lisha grinned through a mouthful of chocolate. Ganache simply smiled faintly, as though he had been waiting for the suggestion.

     And so the telling began.

     "I could tell you how I ended up here, if you are interested!" Lisha stated sweetly.

     "Well, it has been over twenty-five years since my last journey, and I decided to join the fun of the Chocolate Factory research... Hmmm... it soundslike the restock machine was bugged, maybe we should give it a fix?

     Looking at the Machine, all I see is Chocolate Moltenores, a rare Gourmet indeed! This is very suspi...

     Suddenly a deep voice boomed:

     "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY CHOCOLATE FACTORY!"

     Ahhhhh! This is the shopkeeper! He must be possessed by the effects of Chocolate Moltenores! So I decided to get some help! Maybe the Furniture Shopkeeper might help me!"

     Lisha rushed to the Neopian Garden Centre.

     The Neopian Garden Centre welcomes you. "All the garden supplies you will ever need! Garden items without a home icon can only be used in Classic Neohomes. I will not tell them I sell gnomes underwater... Sleeping Chia Gnome is my favourite because that one watches the door while I sleep.

     Putting on these glasses and flexing while Moving House Kyrii Gnome gets my Neohome ready to go!"

     The company sat very alert as the Aisha finished her tale and gazed back at them with aloof disinterest. Quigcole took out her cellphone and began scrolling through social media.

     Quigcole snorted. “Truly? A gnome shopkeeper? That is your great horror?”

     Lisha shrugged, popping the last bite of her candy bar. “Stranger things have happened in Neopia. Besides, it is scarier when you see it.”

     Nev gave a long croak, his throat swelling. “Perhaps the jesting shall end when the next tale is told. Verily, I think the shadows lean closer now.”

     Nev cleared his throat once more. “Mayhap I might give it a try. Mine own tale shall be less autobiographical… and more suited to this haunted eve.” None of the company stopped him, so he proceeded:

     The Sweet One

     Consider, if you would, the result of a cold, cold universe converging on a single entity. A theatre of cruelty focused on a single unsuspecting commodity: the common garden gnome. Fresh out of the workshop and on the shelves, Keyblur the gnome suspects nothing unusual about their origin. Faith in the manufacturer was perhaps misplaced in this instance. For it is more than caveat emptor, here lies a universe where difference is met with indifference. Where the only refuge is twilight, and the realisations of the dawn carry the ultimate weight.

     It took some time before I really realised myself. Safe and sterile in my box, nothing but my other gnomes for companions. Night was our time, when we really sought to communicate with each other and form bonds. Days were spent on the shelf, really sticking to our poses and hoping we would catch the gleam of sunlight in a buyer’s eye and find our forever home. As the nights grew shorter, our nightly communications first drove my suspicions that I was different. At first, it seemed a simple matter of my temperament. The other gnomes seemed to be made of stronger stuff, really. But how could it be possible? We all came from the same assembly line. And surely, deep down, we were all made of the same stuff. In my reflections, I truly felt no different from you, dear reader. Long nights had me begin to develop suspicions about myself, my true self, my real origins. Was I so different from others who came from the same mould?

     Then one day, it happened. A bouncing Blumaroo with a thumb of green and a heart of gold bought me and my manufactured mates and set us up in her garden late at night. Soon, my anticipation gave way to a flight of panic. As the morning dew began to creep, I could see the wide eyes of my companions as they saw that the water seemed to have a twisted effect upon my form. The cold realisation dawned on me. My suspicions were confirmed. I was different from the others. Something deep within me was not right. Soon, my secret would be revealed by the rays of the rising sun. The garden around me yearned for sunlight, sustained by it surely, as I always assumed I would be as well. But alas, dear reader, I was not made of such strong stuff.

     The first ray that trickled over my foot began a chain reaction. My toes began to slop away in the sunlit dew, and soon, to my horror, what was revealed underneath was more horrible than anything I could have imagined. As my toes melted away, what unfurled was not a banner or a toe tag. No, dear reader... it was... a wrapper. A candy bar wrapper. Finally, I knew the truth. Apprehension dawned on me as the dawn apprehended my form, and in my final moments, I saw it in a flash. My moment of creation... a candy bar must have fallen into the manufacturing line... and filled... the mould...

     Perhaps that is why the other gnomes always referred to me as "the sweet one"...

     When Nev’s voice finally faded, the fire popped, sending a spiral of sparks into the night. For a long moment, no one spoke.

     Quigcole cleared her throat, her smirk returning. “Well, that was… bleak. A candy bar in disguise? At least it did not jump out and bite anyone.”

     Nev croaked once more, unimpressed. “Mock if you must, child, yet the truth of it lingers.”

     Ganache stirred the fire with a stick, his grin widening. “Shall I tell you, then, of something that did more than linger?”

     Ganache shifted closer to the flames, the firelight dancing across his glossy chocolate shell. He let the silence linger just long enough to make the others uneasy before he spoke, his voice as smooth and heavy as melted cocoa.

     "Do you hear that bubbling in the distance? That is no trick of your ears. The vats never stop boiling in the Chocolate Factory… and I know what they took from us one night."

     "Closer, closer. Do not let the fire fool you. It is nothing compared to the vats that never cool in the Chocolate Factory. I hear them even now, bubbling like cauldrons, steaming like some witch’s brew. That is where he was lost… an Ice Bori who thought he could be a hero."

     The Cocoa’s Cold Embrace

     He was not alone. His Petpet, a gentle Snowbunny with fur like winter’s first drift, had slipped past the gates. Drawn by the scent of sugar and the gleam of sweets, it hopped too far into the factory’s shadows and perched at the very edge of a boiling vat. The Ice Bori found it there, trembling, heat rising all around. Brave? Yes. But in the Factory, bravery does not matter.

     The air was thick with fire sweetened by cocoa. Every breath scorched, every step left a wet hiss as frost melted beneath his paws. The Ice Bori stretched forward, his claws trembling, scraping the iron rim of the vat as the froth bubbled up. The Snowbunny squealed, its tiny paws scrabbling against the slick metal, ears flattened by the steam. For a moment, he almost had it in his grasp. But the iron was slick, the steam relentless, and he slipped.

     He managed one last push, shoving the Snowbunny to the ledge, its tiny claws scrabbling for purchase. From the shadows, another figure appeared, an Ice Kougra, his companion, frost still clinging stubbornly to his stripes despite the oppressive heat. With desperate swiftness, the Kougra reached down and scooped the Snowbunny into his arms, holding it tight against his chest. The Ice Bori’s frozen eyes met his companion’s for a single, fleeting moment, and though no words passed between them, the meaning was clear. Protect it. Take it far from here.

     The Kougra staggered back, the heat gnawing at his strength. He could feel the air searing his lungs, the edges of his own icy form beginning to soften. Panic overtook loyalty, and he fled, clutching the Snowbunny as he disappeared into the steam. The Ice Bori watched him go, a faint smile flickering before the cocoa surged higher, dragging him down. His voice grew softer, weaker, until the only sound was the froth and pop of the boiling vat. The vats swallowed him whole, savouring every shard of ice, every frozen ounce of him. And as he sank beneath the bubbling surface, the sweetness grew darker, thicker, richer, as though the brew itself had claimed him.

     Ice does not survive in chocolate’s domain…

     …but something emerged that night. Something richer, sweeter, darker than cocoa itself. You have been listening to me tell the tale all along… and have you not wondered, little ones, what I am?"

     Ganache’s grin spread in the firelight, wide and knowing. For a moment, no one dared speak, and the faint bubbling from the distant factory seemed far too real.

     The fire had burned low, embers glowing like faint eyes in the dark. One by one, the storytellers had spoken: of strange shopkeepers, of cursed gnomes, of ice lost to boiling cocoa. Each tale lingered in the smoke, clinging to the night air as though the words themselves refused to leave.

     Quigcole finally set down her phone, her smirk more nervous than mocking now. Nev croaked and shifted closer to the warmth. “Verily, these tales are best left here, with the dying fire. Let them fade with the embers, lest they follow us into the night.”

     A silence followed, deeper than before. Even the steady bubbling from the Factory’s chimneys seemed louder in its absence. Lisha drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, her ears twitching as though catching whispers in the wind. Quigcole glanced over her shoulder, phone forgotten, eyes searching the shadows beyond the firelight.

     Lisha brushed chocolate crumbs from her paws, but her eyes darted toward the looming silhouette of the Chocolate Factory, its chimneys still breathing out their endless steam.

     Ganache leaned back, smiling faintly, as though he alone knew the truth of the tales. The others avoided his gaze, but none dared leave the circle just yet. The night pressed close around them, heavy and expectant, as though waiting for one more story to be told. For when the fire burns low and the night grows long, stories can cling like shadows. And some stories… never end.

     The End.