The sixth year male student has just finished his breakfast and is looking forward to lunch when he suddenly feels something is very wrong. Breakfast at the north hall is usually a hustling and bustling affair, with students brimming with excitement and energy at the start of a new day. This lively and noisy scene is in direct contrast with the calm and serene sight during dinner time where students would partake in their meals in relatively peace and quiet (well... last night was an exception of course).

The reason why the sixth year male student feels something is very wrong, the reason why he feels like somebody has just walked over his grave, is because the north hall has suddenly become eerily silent, like graveyard silent, and that every pair of eyes in the building is trained at him.

“Aww, shit!” says the sixth year male student. “There’s something horrible standing behind me, isn't there?” He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand and that the air around him has turned very cold. The student could almost swear the breath he’s exhaling is transforming into white mists.

The student quietly grabs a fork with his hand, preparing himself for battle. Years of training under Master Wes’s harsh and extreme tutelage has served the student well. He isn't going to give up and roll over at the first sign of danger. The student is supposed to be on his way to become one of the great knights in the prestigious Order of Enahel. He is ready to face any enemy… ready to face any injustice… ready to face any monst-OH FUCK!

The student finally sees what was standing behind him this whole time. It has brushed closely to him on its way to take a seat opposite the student. It is wearing a hospital gown and walking barefooted. It has long raven black hair covering half its face, but the hair couldn't hide the fact that its eyes are watching him.

“May I sit here?” says the boy politely with no trace of warmth in his voice, even though he has already seated himself.

“Yes.” the student says while gulping his saliva, his hands long free of any objects for defense purposes since he has given up trying to save himself.

“Nice weather we’re having this morning, isn't it?” the boy smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Erm… yes.”

“Nice weather for a blueberry muffin, wouldn't you say?”

“..."

“Did you have a nice breakfast?”

“Err… I guess.”

“Let me see. You had one helping of scrambled eggs, three slices of bread, five pieces of bacon and… two blueberry muffins. Breakfast of the champions.”

“How did you-”

“Do you know what your sin is, Porkins?”

“Erm, my name isn't-”

“Well it is now. You may have woken up this morning with whatever name your mother Emma had given to you…”

“How did you know my mother’s n-“

“But when you sat down at this table nine minutes and thirty-five seconds ago, it has changed.”

“…”

“Ah, but I’m going off topic here. Now where was I? Ah yes, sin... Do you know what your sin is, Porkins?”

“…”

“It’s gluttony. See, you took something that didn't belong to you. More specifically, you took something more than your fair share. Do you know what it is? I’ll give you three guesses but since you’re clever you’ll only going to need one.”

“The bluebe-“

“THE BLUEBERRY MUFFIN!”

*slams table

“…”

“I’m sorry, that was extremely rude of me. I shouldn't have raised my voice. But please understand my predicament.”

“…”

“I get a bit irritable when I haven’t eaten yet, low blood sugar.”

“…”

“Or maybe I’m a bit cranky this morning because I woke up from a dream that I’m pretty sure prophesied my imminent and painful death (which I don’t know how to avoid by the way), survived a laughable assassination attempt by Master Haithur (whom I’m sure is going to up his game later), oh and I also got peed on… yeah that’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“…”

“And when you’re in the same situation like I am, you start looking for some comfort food. For that girl sitting right there, its pancakes. For that guy who’s freaking out because I’m pointing at him, it’s his mother’s mushroom soup. For Mistress Ricon, it’s a tub of chocolate. For Headmaster Joss, it’s two glasses of whatever alcohol is within his reach. For Master Wes, its love poetries…”

“…”

“Food for the soul, I guess. For Master Haithur, it’s the tears of little children. Well you get my point. Anyway, can you guess my comfort food?”

“Bluebe-“

“BLUEBERRY MUFFINS!”

*slams table

“…”

“I’m sorry, that was extremely rude of me. I shouldn't have raised my voice. But please understand my predicament.”

“…”

“I get a bit irritable when- wait, did this part of the conversation already happen?”

“…Yes...”

“Sorry again, I really can’t think and be hungry at the same time. Which makes me prone to violent outburst. I guess that’s my sin, wrath.”

“…”

“What I’m trying to say is… Hey, don’t pass out yet. I’m not done talking.”

“…”

“What I’m trying to say is, if you ever take another extra blueberry muffin again, I’ll hunt you down, string you up, and take that blueberry muffin back. Nod your head if you understand.”

“...”

“Good. Lets handshake and part as friends. Now arise Porkins, and sin no more.”

“…”

“If you're looking for a place to puke, outside the north hall is fine.”

“…”

*the sixth year male student leaves

“What a waste of blueberry muffins.”

********************************************************************************************

Another new rumor began circulating around the Whiteford Academy that day about a Demon boy who claims all the blueberry muffins as his own, as well as willing to kill anyone who dares disobey his decree.