A short story.

Histor unlocked the door and walked to the table. He smelled of mud, recently-healed wounds, and melted chocolate.

"What the - so why are you back?" asked the Sucrose Inquisition.

"Because I lost part of my name, all my wisdom, and some hair. I need to recuperate. Your Eminences, can you hand me that mustard, some lemon juice, sugar, and a cup?"

"There's lemonade in the fridge, if that's what you want..." said Cardinal Maltodextrin, concealing his disgust, and the fact that the "mustard" was actually the innards of a deviled egg.

Histor walked to the fridge, drank the lemonade, then headed towards the computer. Cardinal Aspartame stopped him, muttering something that sounded like "you'll make the chair stink go shower." Histor went and showered, then came back to the computer.

In the box marked "Title:" he wrote "A short story."

And he wrote one.

THE END.