Persephone awoke early the following morning, engaging in the kitchen despite her nearly non-existent culinary skills. The art of self-sufficiency had only become a part of her repertoire since her arrival.

Previously reluctant, she now enthusiastically approached the task, humming as she cooked.

With a tablet perched on the windowsill, she meticulously flipped through images, faithfully following the recipe steps. An instinctive smile graced her face throughout the cooking process.

Her motivation? Morpheus.

Each meal she prepared was an expression of her affection for him.

The fried egg bore the evidence of a slight mishap—she hadn't mastered the intricacies of frying. The milk flirted with boiling over. Yet, imperfections aside, she believed that her kitchen prowess would blossom with continued effort.

After all, wasn't it said that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach?

Grinning like a fool, she panickedly turned off the gas as the pan sizzled.

A knock on the door interrupted her contemplation of the next steps.

She rushed to answer and found Seamus dumbfounded at the sight of her perspiring in her apron.

"Miss—"

still sleeping! And didn't

nodded obediently. "Roger

and in no shape to

his senses. A

disorder, she managed to salvage a respectable meal. Fried eggs, toast with cheese,

midst of her musings, she

seized the moment,

"What

"Sephy..."

disappointment, rage, and indescribable emotions

she asked, "What's

it to her straight. Since she was young, she had been

seeing the blisters

he said. "Stop cooking

eyes lit up. "Did you buy

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