"Alright, little guy," you say softly. "No more running. Tell me what's really going on." The cookie looks up at you, his gumdrop hat slightly askew. After a long pause, he nods. "You deserve the truth, Oven Master. We're not ordinary gingerbread." Another cookie pokes his head out from behind the napkin holder, his icing eyes wide. "Sometimes—only near Christmas—a sprinkle of holiday magic drifts through the air," he explains. "It settles on cookies, toys, snowmen… anything made with love and joy." The gumdrop-hatted one continues solemnly, "If the baker is especially festive—humming carols, wearing reindeer socks, dancing to jingles—then the magic might… stick." Your mouth drops open. "Wait, so… my terrible singing and Santa apron gave you life?" He nods gravely. "In a way, yes. We came to life because your Christmas spirit was strong. But the magic doesn't last forever." He glances at the twinkling lights over the window. "We have only about two weeks before it fades. Then we'll just be regular cookies again." You feel your heart twist a little. "That's why you want to go to the North Pole—before time runs out." The cookie nods. "Exactly. We want to see the place where the holiday magic begins! To feel the snowflakes, meet the elves, maybe wave at Santa before we crumble back into normal life. Will you help us?"