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Sparky the dragon had a secret. While all the other dragons were busy breathing fire and guarding hoards of gold, Sparky had a passion for baking. His specialty? Fluffy, sky-high soufflés that tasted like sunshine and dreams. But his biggest challenge wasn’t finding dragon-sized ovens; it was keeping his culinary creations safe from Bartholomew, the village gnome.

Bartholomew was a master of stealth and a connoisseur of anything delicious. He had a sixth sense for freshly baked goods, and Sparky’s soufflés were his ultimate weakness. Many a perfect soufflé had mysteriously vanished from Sparky’s mountaintop lair, leaving behind only a faint trail of flour and a suspicious burp from the direction of Bartholomew’s gnome-hole.

Today, Sparky was attempting his most ambitious soufflé yet: a triple-chocolate, marshmallow-studded masterpiece designed to reach the clouds. He had just pulled it from the oven, a magnificent, quivering tower of chocolaty goodness, when he heard a tiny squeak. Bartholomew.

Sparky quickly placed the soufflé on a high shelf, far beyond Bartholomew’s reach. Or so he thought. He turned his back for a moment to admire his reflection in a particularly shiny piece of quartz, and when he turned back, the soufflé was gone. Again!

“BARTHOLOMEW!” Sparky roared, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. “Where is my soufflé?”

A tiny, muffled voice came from behind a nearby rock. “Soufflé? What soufflé? I haven’t seen any soufflé, Sparky! Just… interesting dust bunnies.”

Sparky peered behind the rock. There was Bartholomew, looking incredibly innocent, his cheeks suspiciously puffed out. A single, tell-tale marshmallow chunk clung to his beard.

Sparky sighed. He was a dragon of logic, not anger. “Bartholomew,” he said, his voice unusually calm, “did you perhaps… ingest my soufflé?”

Bartholomew gulped, the marshmallow dislodging. “Well, Sparky, it was just sitting there! Looking so… tempting! And you know how much I love a good soufflé.”

Sparky, despite himself, had to admit Bartholomew had a point. His soufflés were undeniably tempting. “Bartholomew,” Sparky proposed, a mischievous glint in his eye, “how about a deal? If you promise to stop stealing my soufflés, I will bake you a mini-soufflé every week, just for you.”

Bartholomew’s eyes lit up. “A mini-soufflé? Just for me? With extra marshmallow?”

“With extra marshmallow,” Sparky agreed.

And so, a peculiar culinary truce was struck. From that day on, Sparky always had a small, gnome-sized soufflé ready for Bartholomew. And while Bartholomew occasionally tried to sneak a taste of Sparky’s larger creations (old habits die hard), he mostly respected the agreement. Sparky, in turn, learned to bake extra, just in case. And sometimes, late at night, Sparky would hear the happy hum of a very contented gnome, followed by a tiny, appreciative burp, and he’d know his soufflés were bringing joy, one delicious bite at a time.