Lollipop Traces Unraveled

They say the swirl began humming before dusk, a low sugar-sweet murmur that drew him closer to the bend. Pink clouds hung like whispered secrets, and every candy pebble glittered as though expecting footsteps. A single chocolate stream split the path, curling from nowhere to nowhere, spilling rumors deeper than frosting. On the cupcake crest, someone dared to scrawl a question with deliberate grace: *Where Vojta?* The letters gleamed like ransom notes disguised in sugar pearls, each loop clinging to warmth that didn’t last. A witness swore he heard a voice slip past the taffy trunks—“I only needed the recipe”—then silence, brittle and blushing. Now the lollipops tilt like indifferent sentries beneath a bruised pastel sky, and the air trembles with sugared suspense. Vojta dissolved into myth among these candied hills, and we are left to taste clues that melt before we can hold them.