The Aluminum Foil Roll did not rush.
It advanced.
Each inch of its silvery body unspooled with deliberate menace, reflecting the ruined kitchen in a thousand warped mirrors—every dented pot, every shameful spill, every appliance that had ever beeped at the wrong time. The light bent around it as if reality itself were trying to avoid eye contact.
Lucien slowly lowered himself behind the counter. "Darling," he whispered, "tell me I am hallucinating. Preferably elegantly."
Rico peeked over the sink, gripping the broom like it had personally promised him safety. "If this is a hallucination, it is very shiny."
Mint Chip let out a soft, distressed slosh. "Why is it… wrinkling like that?"
The Foil Roll stopped unspooling.
Its cardboard core creaked ominously.
"You mocked me," it said, voice sharp and metallic, vibrating through every utensil drawer. "You crumpled me. You discarded me after one use. You dared to replace me with parchment."
