*I don't own Jane and the Dragon or its characters
A cook never gets a day off, not even on the worst of days.
If the soup was a little salty or if the bread was seasoned differently, it was hardly a warning sign. She had never expected it to be so quiet. Or that the echoes of yesterdays laughter to bite at her eyes. Neither had she expected it to happen.
A stranger in her kitchen was not the concern, but the space the stranger inhabited was.
The changing atmosphere, the seasons coming and going were reminders that it was not a seasonal feeling, but a scar that would never leave. Dress it prettily, pretend it was not there, it was not so simple.
Stirring vegetables were like cooking away her organs, they were vital. And yet, a cook never gets a break, not even on the best of days.
It seemed only a day before, he stood there, waiting for her to appear. It was common, they were synonymous with each other, and it was always happiness among the cabbages, and turnips, even the thorns were not so bad. Bliss was a celery root in the summer, and those days were supposed to be forever.
The passing of a friend, is like the coldest winter without any hope for spring onions, or autumn pumpkins, or any dream worth remembering.