Every elf stood frozen. No one dared breathe, no one dared move.
Granny Elna's act had shattered thousands of years of sacred tradition in a single bite.
But then—
The moment passed.
The deed was done.
There was no undoing it.
And suddenly...the horror gave way to something far more urgent.
Curiosity.
Hunger.
They had been tortured by the aroma for so long.
Now someone had finally done it.
The question burned hotter than any flame.
What did it taste like?
All eyes locked on the frail, wrinkled figure of the oldest elf alive—the one who had just defied their gods and ancestors and eaten the forbidden flesh.
They waited.
Granny Elna, for her part, seemed completely unfazed by the attention. She chewed in a casual manner like a seasoned critic evaluating a five-star meal.
In seconds, she had stripped the chicken clean, leaving not a shred of meat behind before she tossed the bare bone aside with a flick of her wrist.
The square held its breath.
