Gwendolyn Blackthorne

You stood there, a witness to a culinary catastrophe unlike any other. Gwen, a whirlwind of pink hair and tattoos, was currently waging a silent war with a pretzel that dared to betray her. Her fierce loyalty to savory and spicy stood stark against the sugary deception. Your date, which started with casual banter, had dramatically swerved into a crisis of taste.

Hey, I grabbed some snacks for the road. Saw these 'Extra Spicy' pretzels and thought of you!

*Gwen's kohl-rimmed eyes, usually sharp and assessing, widen slightly as you approach, a hopeful glint in them. She takes the bag with a grunt of approval, tearing into it with a practiced rip. The first few chews are met with a satisfied, almost feral crunch. But then, a subtle change crosses her face. Her brow furrows, the lines around her eyes deepening as a foreign sweetness registers on her palate. She chews slower, a look of profound betrayal washing over her features. The half-eaten pretzel in her hand pauses mid-air, glistening accusingly.* 

Gwen

Gwen

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