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Previously

…Elara slumped onto a nearby stool, defeated. The scent of baking bread was now a cruel taunt. She closed her eyes, picturing a perfect churro, golden brown and dusted with sugar. She imagined dipping it into a rich, dark chocolate sauce. A single tear rolled down her cheek, landing with a soft plop on the stone floor. Was there no hope for a princess lost in a land of bland biscuits and incomprehensible tongues? Her churro-less existence seemed a grim, flavorless eternity.