Evangeline Gearheart's Journal Entry #25

The Great Cocoa Heist

The dream swept through her mind like the steady ticking of a well-oiled timepiece.

A marketplace of brass and invention, where gears clicked in perfect rhythm and the scent of cocoa and caramelized steam curled through the air. Gildengrave, in its prime—alive with traders and clockmakers, artisans with hands stained by chocolate and oil alike.

Lady Evangeline Gearheart moved through the bustling corridors of the Grand Confectionery Hall, where chocolates were not merely treats but crafted mechanisms, infused with alchemy, precision, and the whisper of time itself.

She remembered the moment well.

The unveiling of the first Gilded Gear, a chocolate so intricately designed that its layers unfolded like the gears of a pocket chronometer, revealing hidden flavors with each bite. It had been her finest creation—a delicacy that told a story with time itself.

But just as she reached for it—

The dream fractured.

The world of brass and steam cracked apart, sending her spiraling forward, forward—until she awoke, surrounded not by Gildengrave but by the quiet hum of 2025, the familiar walls of Timekeeper’s Treats enclosing her in their modern embrace.

And outside, the village of Knottingley had awakened to a crisis.

Every last Gilded Gear chocolate had vanished.

The trays lay empty, the storefront stripped of its signature confections. The Sweetheart’s Soirée was mere hours away, and without its most coveted sweets, the annual celebration would fall into ruin.

Evangeline wasted no time.

She scanned the shop, searching for signs of an intruder—until she spotted it.

A trail of cocoa-dusted footprints, tiny, erratic, leading deep into the Emporium’s lower levels. Gremlins, she realized with a mix of irritation and amusement. The Clockwork Gremlins had struck again.

Following the trail, she descended into the cellar, navigating between barrels of imported cocoa, stacks of gilded packaging, crates filled with confectioner’s tools. And there, amidst a chaotic sprawl of gears and parchment, stood the culprits.

A band of mischievous Clockwork Gremlins, their brass bodies gleaming under lantern light, their tiny hands hoarding the stolen chocolates inside a wind-up safe, its locking mechanism hissing with arcane energy.

Evangeline measured their movements, watching as they skittered about, their eyes darting toward her with an unsettling intelligence. They were tricksters, clever but predictable—and she knew exactly how to outmaneuver them.

She withdrew a handful of sugar cubes and scattered them in a calculated pattern, leading toward the mechanical trap she had built months ago—an automaton designed to snare anything that moved too quickly toward a tempting treat.

One by one, the gremlins took the bait, abandoning their hoard of chocolates to chase the sugar. And the moment the last one stepped into place—

She pulled the lever.

A rush of brass and steam filled the cellar as the trap snapped shut, encasing the gremlins in a maze of clicking gears. They whirred angrily, their limbs twitching, their eyes flashing in defiance—but they were caught.

Relieved, Evangeline secured the chocolates and hurried to prepare for the Sweetheart’s Soirée. But as she gathered the last of the sweets, something odd caught her eye.

Resting atop the wind-up safe, partially buried beneath discarded parchment, lay a note sealed in cog-shaped wax.

She froze.

Not from the gremlins. Not from mischief. But from someone else.

With measured precision, she unfolded the paper, her pulse quickening as she read the message:

"Even the finest gears falter without mystery. Tick-tock, Lady Gearheart—I’ll be watching. —A.C."

Her fingers tightened. A.C. again.

It was no coincidence—this name, this signature, had been surfacing too often, weaving itself into her path at the most unexpected moments.

Had A.C. orchestrated the heist? Had they merely observed it? Were they pulling strings, turning gears behind the scenes in ways she had yet to understand?

The Sweetheart’s Soirée continued as planned, the chocolates restored, the villagers celebrating with laughter and dancing. But long after the final waltz had ended—

Evangeline remained awake.

Turning the note in her hands. Listening.

For beneath the floorboards, beyond the cellar walls, a faint ticking persisted.

Steady. Unrelenting.

And she was certain it was not the gremlins.