Who: Willa and Julian Where: Prof Heller's rooms When: Friday Night What: Family time Rating: Low
The kitchen was hot. Between the oven and the stove and the steam from the already completed dishes it couldn't get much hotter. The kitchen was absolutely covered in completed or half completed dishes. Willa had been cooking since early afternoon. In fact she had missed a couple of her afternoon lessons but sometimes cooking was the only thing that made her feel better. It was one of the few things that she could do that was still considered normal. Ever since Willa's world had been turned upside down there were so few things she could do. All of her daily actives were no longer acceptable and they had taken her husband away. No, she couldn't let herself think of him like that anymore. Mihal had never really been her husband.
She had learned to cook from Mihal's mother. She had always been kind. Sometimes Willa even felt guilty that she was in prison now. It didn't seem fair in some ways. Willa tried to shake off the thought as she turned to stir the concoction in the pot on the stove. The savory food were almost exclusively Romani, except for uncle Julian's favorite meal, which willa had learned to make after she came to live with him. When she had a bad day, when the world was so confusing, it made her feel better to cook. It was simple and step by step. It didn't change and the result was always the same. As far as she was concerned it was far better therapy than any of the other sessions she was made to attend.
The ding from the oven caused her to turn sharply and nearly trip over the hem of her long skirt. She shouldn't have that skirt anyway. She had taken it from a store in town earlier in the week. That was something she had always done with Mihal and his family. It was normal. Sometimes she still forgot that normal for them was not normal for the rest of the population. Willa sighed softly to her self as she pulled a try of cupcakes out of the oven. Cooking may have been a trait picked up from the Romani family but baking was something she had learned from her mother. Her real mother. She had been a pastry chef and Willa could clearly remember following her all around the kitchen watching her bake. It had only been recently that she had recovered that memory. She didn't understand how she could have forgotten in the first place.
The sound of the opening door caused Willa to pause. Her uncle must be back from his class. She hadn't even told him she would be here. She figured as long as she fed him while taking over his rooms it would be perfectly alright.
"Hello Uncle." She said as she returned to the pot on the stove. "I made dinner." Though a glance around the kitchen would make it look like she had cooked for feast.