"He was never a smart boy," she whispered, "but he was strong."
"He was never a good boy," she whispered as she turned her gnarled hands to the task of kneading the dough, "but he was loyal to his friends."
"He was greedy," she whispered as she shaped the dough into five vaguely man-shaped figures and an octagon shape, "but he served his country in its time of need."
"He was a gambler, liar, and a thief," she whispered as she put the dough men and octagon in a tray and shut them up in an oven, "but he always sent his wages back to his sister and I."
"He was rude and obnoxious," she said later as she removed the cookies from the oven and tossed them to the floor of her kitchen, "but he always had a sweet smile for his mother and his sister."
"He was an awful, callous little shit," she whispered as she stared into the darkness. In the darkness of the kitchen, red eyes blinked and a long rat tail swished out of the shadows beneath them, "but he was my boy." she finished.
Black talons like tiger claws clicked against the tile floor and the red eyed rat scurried out of the darkness, its fur was oil black and faintly luminous and the creature itself was the size of a small dog. Its scything claws and blocky teeth tore into the crudely man-shaped cookies in lightning quick swipes, leaving nothing but stray crumbs. The elderly woman smiled a bleak smile.