[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 "No... she died just before I was born." Amalia shrugs, unperturbed. People die in the Hollowed Grounds, often at what the rest of the world might consider a young age. She had known her great-grandfather for a brief time, but the Chandrakants were a matriarchal family, and Amalia's grandmother spent little time with her father. And as for the girl's own father... Well. Nobody knew but Rishima, who had always be tight-lipped about the whole thing. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by playful companions and comfortable familiarity. When at last the aroma of the cakes becomes too strong to bear they slip around to the waiting oven, gazing in critically at the beautiful golden loaves. With Jyoti waiting in the front of the shop (they have come to realize that the calf hates heat), Amalia grins at her silver-haired bard, taking the large oven mitts from his hands and slipping them on her own. A knife inserted comes out clean, a sure sign that the good are done. One at a time she carefully carries them to the counter, where she has already set out a drying rack. Deftly and delicately Amalia flips the pans onto the wire, and the cakes that slide out are golden and aromatic, beautifully imprinted with swirling suns. Grinning delightedly at the loaves, Amalia gestures to them one at a time. "Wonderful work, sous chef Jigano! Which one do you want to take home to Rory, and which should we cut open to test?" 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