She eats her cinnamon roll like a barbarian, with no regard for the sacredness of the spiral.

The two angels watching over her argue over whether one finds enlightenment or a minotaur at the center of a labyrinth. They come to blows. God reprimands them. He tells them He designed every labyrinth to have another labyrinth in the center.

The next day, she hears a bell ringing in the distance. Her mouth waters. She finds another cinnamon roll, but she receives this one like a sacrament. She eats it slowly from the outside in until she gets to the dark, sticky heart. This last bite glows in her mouth and she realizes that she has wasted too much of her short life arguing with her allies and not her enemies because her allies will listen and her enemies won't. The realization makes her nauseous. Stubborn tears spring from her eyes. This is the last cinnamon roll I'm ever going to eat, she tells herself. It is a vow that only lasts a day. She tears into her next cinnamon roll the old way.

.