Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
It felt like some weird and unusual kind of torture, to set foot in the bakery. Even if the place had been cold and empty for a good while, and though she couldn't actually smell anything, just stepping inside brought to mind the heady fragrance of newly baked bread, of spices and sweetness lingering on the tongue. Old laughter and murmuring voices seemed to bounce between the rafters, loud enough that they all but drowned out Amun's voice.
Maea shook herself, and tried a fleeting smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's a good thought," she sighed, "I just don't know that I'll be of much use, either. Amalia was the baker, not me. What did you have in mind..?"
At least she somewhat knew her way around. Enough to be able to bring out bowls and ladles, measuring cups and pans. After a long, measured look at the oven, she gave him a speculative look. "Something that doesn't require baking, I hope?"
Maea shook herself, and tried a fleeting smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's a good thought," she sighed, "I just don't know that I'll be of much use, either. Amalia was the baker, not me. What did you have in mind..?"
At least she somewhat knew her way around. Enough to be able to bring out bowls and ladles, measuring cups and pans. After a long, measured look at the oven, she gave him a speculative look. "Something that doesn't require baking, I hope?"
