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Inside Gargamel’s decrepit castle, a chill permeates the stone walls, but the wizard finds a fleeting moment of solace. He sits hunched on a rickety stool, his tattered, dark robes pooling around his bony ankles. His long, gnarled feet, swollen and aching from a day of failed Smurf-hunting, soak in a chipped porcelain tub. Steam rises lazily from the hot, murky water, carrying the faint scent of herbs and stale magic. He sighs, a low, rumbling sound that echoes in the cavernous room, a rare moment of peace in his miserable existence.
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent rap echoes from his heavy oak door. Gargamel’s few remaining teeth clench. He groans, his brow furrowing. “Blast it all! It’s those infernal trick-or-treaters again, no doubt! Always bothering a wizard for their paltry sweets!”
He pushes himself up, his joints protesting with a series of pops and cracks, and shuffles towards the door, muttering curses under his breath. He yanks it open, ready to unleash a torrent of angry words, but stops short. No costumed children stand on his doorstep. Instead, a brightly wrapped present, adorned with a perfectly tied crimson ribbon, sits innocently on the cold, damp stone. Gargamel blinks, his beady eyes widening slightly.
A flicker of bewildered hope ignites in his chest. “A gift? For me?” He picks up the box, turning it over in his hands. “Could it be Azrael? No, that mangy cat never remembers anything but mealtime. Perhaps my dear mother? No, she’s forgotten my existence for decades.” He begins to guess aloud, a rare, almost childlike wonder on his face. “Could it be… a fan? A secret admirer?”
His fingers fumble with the ribbon, then tear at the festive paper. A blinding flash erupts, followed by a deafening BOOM! A thick cloud of acrid, sulfurous smoke billows forth, engulfing Gargamel. He stumbles backward, coughing violently, his few strands of hair singed, his face blackened with soot.
Through the dissipating smoke, a small, blue figure pops into view, a wide, mischievous grin on his face. “Happy birthday, Gargamel!” chirps Jokey Smurf, his voice bubbling with delight.
Gargamel’s face contorts in a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His eyes narrow to slits, and a guttural growl rumbles in his chest. “Jokey Smurf! You miserable, blue pest! I’ll turn you into a toadstool!”
But before he can lunge, something impossible happens. The smoke, instead of dispersing, begins to swirl and contract, sucking back into the now-empty box. The loud bang inverts into a strange, whooshing sound. Jokey, still grinning, suddenly gasps. His feet lift from the ground. He floats helplessly, despite his frantic protests and flailing limbs, pulled inexorably towards the opening of the box.
“No! Let me go! This isn’t funny!” Jokey cries, his voice muffled as he’s deposited inside.
The flaps of the box snap shut with an audible click, and the crimson ribbon magically re-fastens itself, tying a perfect bow. Gargamel watches in utter shock as the re-sealed package sits innocently on the ground.
A moment of stunned silence hangs in the air, broken only by the faint, high-pitched squeak of a distant, unseen door. Gargamel turns, his mind still reeling from the impossible reversal. Standing at the edge of his property, a figure emerges from the gloom. He is tall and lanky, dressed in a slightly rumpled but once-fine suit, a monocle perched precariously on his nose.
He strikes a dramatic pose, his chest puffed out, and announces with an overly theatrical flourish, “Greetings, neighbor! Allow me to introduce myself! I am The Great Professor Hinkle Tinkerton! And I have been diligently studying the arcane arts for the past twelve years, ever since that utterly infuriating incident with the… sentient snowman!” He beams, oblivious to Gargamel’s soot-covered face and the mysterious, re-sealed box.