The silver spoon touched the locket, and time unspooled like pasta.
The Truth of the Nursery:
There were never two cribs
There was never one mother
There was only the high chair, and what squirmed within it
The Chef removed its hat, revealing:
Payune's face (but older)
Hayuni's scars (but fresher)
The Third's emptiness (but fuller)
"We made ourselves into courses," it said, "to avoid being the main dish."
The documents burned with foxfire, revealing:
Payune's True Name: "The Knife That Learned To Weep"
Hayuni's True Name: "The Spoon That Forgot Its Purpose"
The Third's True Name: "The Plate That Was Always Empty"
The Chef laughed, and the sound cracked the spoon in half.
The Third Sibling reached into its chest and pulled out:
A baby's fist (clutching a tooth)
A recipe card (stained with milk)
The first lie: "This will only hurt for a moment"
The Chef tasted it and wept molten gold.
"Perfect," it whispered. "Just like mother used to make."
What happened next cannot be described, only experienced:
Payune carved her name into the high chair
Hayuni fed the Chef its own tears
The Third finally ate its fill
The universe digested itself.