“Whatever house Mamoryllis living in, people inside become slightly happier! Just slightly. If not that, then warm feeling in chest at least. Become kinder! Kinder to others.”
“That sounds wonderful, Mamoryllis!” Sophie exclaimed.
Mamoryllis puffed up so much it looked like it might float off the table.
“Of course! Because Mamoryllis is Mamoryllis! Very special creature!”
Sophie giggled. “And what kind of food does a Mamoryllis like to eat?”
“Mamoryllis does not eat food!” Mamoryllis said firmly. Then paused. “…Unless you offering. Then maybe teeny nibble. Of something sweet. But Mamoryllis never take by self! Not like dirty-gray crumb-thieves!”
“But don’t you get hungry?”
“Mamoryllis eats moonlight,” it said, eyes gleaming. “Big pie in sky—glowy, round, tasty for soul! On moon-nights, you look up, you see—roofs full of Mamoryllises! Dancing! Squeak-squeak, spin-spin, all full of joy!”
“Wooow…” Sophie gasped, clasping her hands.
She pictured it—little glowing forms flitting across rooftops, paws tapping softly, tails swishing in the silver light. Not monsters. Not spirits. Not even demi-humans. Just…something else. Something that perhaps ought not to be defined by humans or their ilk.
“All right, little Mamoryllis,” she said, smiling gently. “Let’s take care of that paw. And after, I’ll bring something sweet. Won’t you stay and have some tea with me? It gets a bit quiet here, all on my own.”
“Tea with pretty lady? Yes-yes! Mamoryllis would like very much!”
It held out its tiny paw again. Sophie cupped it gently in both hands.
“Pain, pain, go away,” she whispered.
Though I don’t know where you’ve come from or how long you’ve been here…
“To the mountains you go, to the mountains you stay.”
You strange and darling creature who warms hearts just by being—may your little pink pads be whole once more.
A gentle glow faded from her hands. And there it was: the paw, healed.
“Such…delicious light…” Mamoryllis murmured, eyes wide with awe.
“I’m glad you like it.” Sophie smiled. “Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll see about getting us some snacks.”
Sophie exited the salon and padded down the halls of the manor, eventually making it to the kitchen. Peeking inside, “Raymond?” she called out.
No response. The kitchen was empty.
She stepped in a little further. “Raymond? Are you here?”
“Ah, milady.”
The voice came from deeper inside, around the corner. Sophie followed it and found him seated at a side table, hunched low over the surface. Crumpled balls of paper littered the table; a pen was in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Sophie asked.
“Well, you and the family are taking Mr. Ozhorn out for dinner tonight, right? So, I figured I’d use the time to work on the wedding feast plans. I’m doing the food for the guests with invites—some other ship’s cook’ll handle the public tables. Feeling a bit of pressure, I guess. Some nobles’ll be there, yeah? Gotta make sure I don’t embarrass the household.”
He gave a sort of faint, sheepish grin, his golden ponytail shifting as he scratched the back of his neck.
Sophie stepped closer and glanced over his shoulder. The page was covered in his familiar, unmistakable handwriting—lists of well-loved dishes, some neatly penned, others scrawled, crossed out, and scribbled in again. Each name called up a warm aroma, a bite of something remembered. Thinking that the poor chef had turned his brain inside out and outside in again and again until the whole thing was poured out onto the page, she curved her lips into a quiet smile.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said. “There isn’t a thing you make that isn’t delicious. I think that. Everyone else does, too.”
There was a glint of gold—Raymond turned—and suddenly, she was met with eyes the color of the open sea.
The air between them drew taut. Her breath caught, just slightly. His gaze didn’t shift.
“You’re too close, milady,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ve mentioned this before.”
She couldn’t move. That blue—its depth—seemed to draw her in.
“I’m still a man. Always will be.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Sophie took a step back.
A beat of silence. Then Raymond gave a soft, rueful chuckle.
“You were lovely before,” he said, lighter now, “but now you’ve got the kind of face that could start a war. Take that as a warning. Walk too close to men like me, and you might not like the ideas it puts in their heads.”
Sophie could only blink. “Um, right. Thank you. I’ll be careful.”
Just like that, the moment snapped back into place. Raymond leaned back in his chair, casual again, as though nothing had passed between them.
“So? What can I do you for?”
“Oh—right. I was looking to see if we had anything to eat. Something sweet and sugary. Juice, too, if we have it. Just a thimbleful or so.”
“Do we have a guest?”
“A very tiny one, yes.”
The ease with which he returned to normalcy was almost jarring. So smooth it made her question if anything had really happened. Had she imagined it?
Wordlessly, Raymond rose and moved across the kitchen. He retrieved a glass jar of old-fashioned fizzy sugar candies and some juice. He held both out to her, saying nothing.
“Thank you,” she said. “And sorry for bothering you.”
“Not at all. Take care, milady.”
“Thanks.”
She glanced up at him before taking the goods. Tall, golden-haired, with ocean-blue eyes and a frame that had always made her feel a bit like she had to look up and up to find his face. Raymond stood there with a smile that was too gentle to read, like a page turned just out of reach.
He had come to the household when she was thirteen—the same year she quit school and withdrew from the world. At first, he had frightened her. Too tall, too loud, too easy in the way he filled a room. But he brought sweets. Dishes filled with warm, quiet magic. He fed her through her silence, her sullenness, her sorrow.
And slowly, over shared meals and stray jokes, stories told and retold, they’d fallen into something easy. Familiar or sibling-like, she had thought.
“Congratulations on your engagement, milady,” Raymond said.
“…Thank you.”
Nothing more was said between them. Only the light brush of fingers as he handed off the candy jar.