The savior of the broken. And friend of the Mad.

The warmth of the bakery wrapped around Nimdok like a comforting embrace as he stepped inside. The world of rain, cobblestones, and cruel birds was locked outside. The scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the air, mingling with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Ah, Nimdok!” came the cheerful, slightly raspy voice of Ms. Varn.

She emerged from the back of the shop, tall and gaunt, her orange fur dusted with flour. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her long tail curling behind her like a question mark. Her dual-colored eyes—one amber, the other a startling green—gleamed with mischievous delight.

“Darcia finally let you out of her clutches, did she?” she teased, brushing her hands on her apron. Her flat chest puffed slightly with exaggerated pride as she playfully struck a pose. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, my dear Nimdok. The finest bread, the warmest company, and the best bird-chasing in town!”

Nimdok blinked, startled by her words. “B-birds?”

Ms. Varn leaned closer, her keen gaze locking onto him. She tilted her head, her ears twitching as if listening to something only she could hear. Then, with a sudden and dramatic sweep of her hand, she brushed at his shoulders.

“Shoo, shoo!” she said, her voice soft yet commanding. “Off with you! This is no place for your nonsense.”

Nimdok stood frozen, his breath caught in his chest as she made a show of scattering invisible birds. Her movements were theatrical yet tender, her claws never touching him but close enough to feel their presence.

“There now,” she said with a satisfied smile, straightening up. “All gone. Nasty little things, aren’t they? Always pecking where they don’t belong.”

His lips trembled as he stared at her, the weight in his chest lifting ever so slightly. “You… you saw them?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Her eyes softened, and she crouched slightly to meet him at eye level. “Of course I did, Nimdok. You think I don’t know a tormentor when I see one?” Her tail swished behind her as she smiled warmly. “Now come, sit. I’ll fetch you something sweet.”

He let her guide him to the small table in the corner of the bakery. The chair creaked under him as he sank into it, his legs weak from the ordeal. The room was cozy, cluttered with trays of bread and jars of preserves. A well-worn kettle sat on the stove, steam curling from its spout.

Ms. Varn bustled about, humming a tune that felt oddly familiar. Her movements were quick and precise, yet there was an undeniable gentleness to her every action. When she returned, she placed a steaming cup of tea and a small plate of buttery scones in front of him.

“Eat,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
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“Eat,” Ms. Varn repeated, her sharp tone softened with a smile, her paw resting briefly on Nimdok’s trembling hand.

Nimdok obeyed, nibbling on the scone, its buttery crumble melting in his mouth. The tea was earthy and soothing, its warmth sinking into him like a comforting hug.

As he ate, Ms. Varn moved about the bakery with her usual eccentric flair, pausing occasionally to talk to a small doll perched on the top shelf. It was a lion with button eyes and a crooked smile, its mane frayed and well-loved.

“What’s that, Mr. King?” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning toward the doll. “Oh, don’t be rude. Of course, Nimdok is welcome here. You’re just jealous because I didn’t bake you a scone!”

She turned to Nimdok with a playful grin. “Mr. King gets grumpy when he’s hungry. Don’t mind him.”

Nimdok blinked, his lips twitching into a faint smile. The absurdity of it all—the doll, the mock scolding, her lightheartedness—was like a balm to his fractured mind.

As he watched her chatter with the lion, a memory stirred, faint and fragile. Ms. Varn as a young girl, her clothes patched and worn, standing at the edge of the woods with Darcia. She was a peasant, a poor girl whose family had no money to send her away to an asylum.

While his mind had been shattered under cruel hands, hers had been left to blossom in wild abandon. She grew into her madness with a freedom he could barely comprehend, her insanity becoming something almost beautiful, untainted by electric shocks and icy restraints.

Nimdok swallowed hard, the scone suddenly dry in his mouth. He envied her, in a way. But he was also grateful. Grateful that he wasn’t as far gone, that he still had the tether of his sister and the warmth of this strange, wonderful friend.

“Here,” he said, placing the small parcel of medicine on the counter. “Darcia made this for you. She said it’s for your cold.”

Ms. Varn tilted her head, her mismatched eyes narrowing. “Oh, how sweet of her! Always taking care of everyone, isn’t she?” Her tail flicked as she reached for the parcel, her claws deftly untying the string.

“Though,” she added with a sly smile, “I think she just wanted an excuse to send you here. Your sister has always been clever like that.”

Nimdok’s cheeks warmed, but he said nothing.

Ms. Varn chuckled, placing the medicine on a shelf before turning back to him. “You know,” she mused, her voice soft, “you and Darcia are lucky to have each other. Some of us…” Her gaze flicked to the lion doll, her smile faltering for the briefest moment. “Some of us have to make do with other kinds of company.”

She stepped closer, her paw resting lightly on his shoulder. “But that’s what friends are for, isn’t it? To keep the ghosts at bay.”

The words hung between them, and for a moment, Nimdok felt the weight of her sincerity. Ms. Varn, for all her quirks and madness, truly cared. Her affection was unguarded, almost romantic in its warmth. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, a casual, fleeting gesture that left him both comforted and unsettled.

He looked away, trying to suppress the blush rising to his ears. “You’re too kind,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Kindness is free, Nimdok,” she replied with a wink.

A few minutes later, Nimdok noticed her opening a small tin and shaking out a couple of pills. She downed them with a sip of tea, her tail curling idly behind her.

“What are those for?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

Ms. Varn glanced at the tin, then back at him. “These? Oh, just my little helpers. They keep my mind from wandering too far, you know. I’d lose myself completely without them.”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t you take yours?”

Nimdok froze, the question piercing him like a blade. He remembered the pills, remembered how they were always gone before he could take them. Darcia would smile, her tone light but firm. “You don’t need those, Nimdok. They’ll dull your brilliance.”

“I… I don’t,” he admitted, his voice faltering.

Ms. Varn frowned, her ears twitching. “That’s… unusual. But perhaps it’s for the best.” Her smile returned, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. “You’re still here, after all. And that’s what matters.”

Her words were meant to comfort, but they left Nimdok feeling strangely hollow. He sipped his tea, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in his chest.

Ms. Varn, ever perceptive, leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Whatever the reason, Nimdok, remember this: you’re stronger than you think. And you’re never alone.”

He nodded, unsure if he believed her but unwilling to argue. For now, the warmth of her bakery and the kindness in her eyes were enough.