[SE] Yeast of the Sun, Zest of the Moon

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help Unphased by the Bard's dramatics, Amalia raises an eyebrow at Isuma as though to include her in the jest. "Not cruel if it's true!" She teases mercilessly, a mischievous smile on her lips. "How old are you, anyway? Forty? Fifty?" She flushes anew as he mentions her apron, shaking her head. "I got it in the Fae village." A truth, technically: Deimos had made it in the Undercroft, presented it to her there. Straightening it self-consciously, she cannot help the shy and poignant smile, the rosy blush which tints her cheek as she thinks about the man. But it is time to get to work at last, and Amalia finds thoughts of nonsense abandoned as a strong work ethic takes control. "The air will make it rise better, and keep the dough from becoming too close and dense." She demonstrates how to use the whisk before passing back the bowl for him to finish combining ingredients. Meanwhile, Amalia assembles her eggs, six in total. "Once the sugar and butter are creamed we add the eggs, which protects the air bubbles and adds moisture. They're also why cakes tend to be yellow." She cracks and egg one-handed as she talks, taking the bowl back to lightly whisk them, and gestures that Jigano should add the rest. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine