"I just can't cook." Sarah lamented.
"Why so?" inquired Leone, who was as earnest in her query as a nurse, would be to her patient.
"Gravy is the key ingredient to get texture in any dish. Alas! I can't chop onions. They bring tears to my eyes." With that, she breathed a deep sigh that was as cold as if she had just landed in the Frigid zone.
Leone quickly handed a shield to her friend, "Wear this armor before you chop onions; it will protect you from the sooty vapors that they emit, that'll prevent tears from coming."
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a golden onion. Any golden onion. One planted or harvested. An onion chopped for a meal. How can you use an onion as a prop in a character’s hand? Go where the prompt leads!
