Daily 8 for swc july '24 446 words Calm down, girlie, I told myself. This will be a piece of cake. Quite literally, too. To pass, I have to make a slice of cake that fits the prompt. It also has to be elegantly arranged, delicious, and a million other things that I could manage in my sleep. The prompt is the hard part. I take another step forward with the line of young bakers who want to become the king’s personal chef. One could be chosen, five could be chosen, none could be chosen. And yet everyone thinks that they could be one of the special few to be accepted. I know I will be accepted. A groan comes from the front of the line. They must have been one of the few people to get an actually hard prompt. Like me. I haven’t even gotten my prompt yet, and I already know it will be next to impossible. People think the prompts are completely random, but do you really think a kingdom with magicians would let the daughter of a death sprite have the chance to get an easy prompt? The answer is no. Absolutely not. Sometimes I imagine a life where I won’t be followed everywhere by my mother’s shadow. Where the first thing people see isn’t my black hair. When I finally reach the front of the line, I reach my hand into the bag. I know I will pull out the hardest prompt in there, but I move my hand around a little for show. I grab a slip of paper and pull it out. Haunted Candyland. I look up, thinking this is a joke. Haunted Candyland? Simple and done before. The administrators smirk and gesture to a table, outfitted with baking equipment and walk over, still turning this development over in my head. Once I make it to the table, everything else flies out of my head and I start brainstorming. No matter how strange this is, it will not stop my focus. I eventually decided on a dark chocolate cake with red and black buttercream frosting and, of course, candy. It isn’t that original, but it should be good enough. ✧ I take a colorful lollipop and place it in the slice at a slightly crooked angle. Done! ✧ I wait in the room. The king is eating my cake right now. He is the only one who judges, and the only person who doesn’t know whose cake is who’s. Or, at least according to him. ✧ Dear Marie, His royal majesty, King Atlas, is sad to inform you that your cake did not meet the standards of a royal chef, and you will not be accepted.
