The Snack Oracle
Welcome back to the Good Soup Chronicles, where familiars rule, chaos reigns, and gothic humor never skips a volume
Soup has entered her prophetic era.
She stares at the porch like she’s seeing the future.
And it smells like chicken.
She won’t move. She won’t blink.
She just waits, knowing the snacks are foretold and that I am merely the vessel to deliver them.
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