Amalia
the shield of safrin
Without anything concrete to cling to, Amalia has fallen back into the habit of work. It gives her solace, familiarity in the chaos: no matter how much she doesn't know, she knows how to do this. Cooking, baking, is as natural to her as breathing, always bringing forth the same results if you follow the simple steps.
Its midday which means she's finished the morning bake and now the afternoon loaves are rising along the rear of the shop. Flush with sweat from the heat of the ovens, Amalia leans upon her counter and sips cool water from a mug. There is flour on her cheek and on her neck, more beneath her fingernails. Her body aches from pushing it too hard these last few days; she relishes the pain.
The man who walks in is a stranger to her, which is surprising- there are fewer and fewer strange faces, these days. Wearily she rises to a standing position, placing the water down beside her and affixing her best customer service smile (or at least, not frown). "Welcome to Devas Bakery. How can I help you today?"
Its midday which means she's finished the morning bake and now the afternoon loaves are rising along the rear of the shop. Flush with sweat from the heat of the ovens, Amalia leans upon her counter and sips cool water from a mug. There is flour on her cheek and on her neck, more beneath her fingernails. Her body aches from pushing it too hard these last few days; she relishes the pain.
The man who walks in is a stranger to her, which is surprising- there are fewer and fewer strange faces, these days. Wearily she rises to a standing position, placing the water down beside her and affixing her best customer service smile (or at least, not frown). "Welcome to Devas Bakery. How can I help you today?"
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
