Awarded the Golden Drip for Architectural Deliciousness.
Here, on the frostbitten edge of the Carpathian Gelato Shelf, the ancient city of Ice Creamopolis rises—a bastion of wafflebrick and sacred swirl. Locals whisper that each tower holds a different flavor memory, and at solstice, children sing the Anthem of the Infinite Scoop. Long ago in Târgu Mureș, shepherds shaped butter-citadels in snow as part of the Festival of Soft Serve Spirits—this is their grandchild.
Sweet regards,
—Dr. Étienne Balthazar Crowley, Keeper of the Frosted Glyphs