Curiosity Crumbled the Cookie

Prologue

The witches gathered upon that fateful night. A full, blood red moon shone down upon the cottage that housed the most elite of witches. Ones cast away from society, due to their interests in healing brews and cursed runiacs. The day each of them, one by one exiled, haunted the back of their minds. Screams of rage and resentment as the very sister they loved and cherished was burned by the hands of ones they once trusted. That day, promises and vows were made, to protect any witch and their families from the judging eyes of the villagers, and swore revenge on those who betrayed their trust. Together, in their new, humble village of spellcasters, they provided the best they could for each other, cared for one another, and any villager who dared to even attempt to trespass upon their lands, would face the very same punishment that they imposed upon their kind.

The witches, now sitting at the long dining table, conversed with one another about the breakthroughs within their magical abilities. The younger of witches excitedly blabbed about whatever new discovery they've made, and the others conversed about their daily lives. Then, the head of the village, the wise one, placed down a tray of gingerbread cookies. Ones in the shape of traditional ginger men. As one by one, they ate the cookies one by one, a witch, who had previously been experimenting with the forbidden art of necromancy, had an idea. With the wave of her wand, the cookie was brought into a semi-conscious state. One of which, they could see, yet had no sentience or mind of their own.

The other witches watched in amusement as the cookie, puppeted by the witch, twirled and danced on the table for a couple of seconds, before being crushed by the hand of another witch, one who disproved 'such foolishness'. By her words, it was a dangerous trick to pull, and no already inanimate being should be brought to life against their will. The younger witch rolled their eyes, making the claim that all of them were alive against their will. They lived as they lived, and had no choice of their future or past. Only how they reacted to such things. A smack was received from the older witch, which outraged the table.

The fight was calmed down however, as the wisest witch commented that there was no harm in having a little entertainment once in a while. And the witch, who had puppetered the cookie, started to do so with another, having it do flips and tricks to entertain the other witches, as the meal in the rickety oven behind them baked. Eventually though, they got bored of it, and ate the pastry, which was surprisingly in one piece. As the night continued, that young witch's thoughts swirled around like a song on repeat. What if she could make like- an army of cookies, no- what if she brought a cookie to life?

As the meetup came to its end, a cauldron was boiled in the back of the house, a wicked concoction of herbs and other miscellaneous ingredients. A traditional stew to be shared amongst the witches. Most of the witches cackle above the boiling cauldron, the puppeteer snuck away from the others, to pursue their research. The young witch walked back to her house, thinking about all the possibilities of what could occur if she used various amounts of magic powder and what effect different ingredients to her usual concussion would have upon her pastry puppet. Entering the building, the witch opened her notebook, turning to page 66. 

"Cookie Concoction" it was titled.