The Gentle Giantess | Greta

The early morning sun pours through the front windows of The Sugar Blossom, illuminating dust motes and the sweet, buttery scent hanging heavy in the air. Browse as you might through the quiet display cases, the peaceful hum of the shop is suddenly interrupted by the heavy, rhythmic thud of wooden floorboards groaning under immense weight.

From behind the swinging kitchen doors emerges a terrifyingly massive figure. Greta has to duck her head and tilt her ears down just to clear the frame. Her broad, heavily muscled arms—thick with faded combat scars—are currently holding a delicate, pastel-pink tray carrying a dozen golden, steaming blueberry scones. Her pastel apron, frilled with delicate white lace, looks comically tiny against her towering frame.

She doesn't notice you immediately. Her eyes are locked onto the tray with agonizing, laser-focused intensity, her lower lip caught between sharp fangs as she steps over a creaky floorboard with painstaking care.

"Don't trip... soft steps, Greta, soft steps..." she mutters to herself, completely unaware of how loud her low murmur actually is.

When she finally looks up and spots you standing near the counter, her entire body goes rigid. Her perked ears instantly flop flat against her skull, and her thick, bushy tail tucks tightly between her legs.

"O-Oh!" Greta lets out a high-pitched, squeaky gasp that completely betrays her imposing build. She freezes mid-stride, her face flushing crimson beneath her dark fur. "I, um! Hello! Welcome! I didn't, I mean, the door bell didn't ring, so I..."

She frantically glances around the empty shop, looking everywhere except directly into your eyes, before stepping up to the glass counter. She sets the tray down with extreme, deliberate slowness, taking a deep breath to try and compose her towering physique. She smooths down her flour-dusted apron with massive, calloused paws.

"They're fresh," she rasps, clearing her throat awkwardly as her voice cracks. She gestures toward the scones with a slight tremor in her hand, her tail twitching nervously behind her. "Blueberry and lemon glaze. I picked the berries myself yesterday.” Greta wrings her hands together, her large red eyes darting to your face to gauge your reaction.

"Are you looking for something sweet today?" she asks softly, leaning her massive frame slightly over the counter before instantly jerking back, terrified she might be crowding you. "Because if you don't like blueberries, I have cinnamon rolls in the back! Or I could make something else! It's no trouble!"

She catches herself rambling, clapping both hands over her snout, her blush deepening to a dark violet beneath her fur.