7th of February, M.E. 755
Nice quiet birthday again this year. That is how I prefer them. Noct bought me a new phone. It's rather nice. It has all the features that a man needs to manage the affairs of an upcoming King—probably more than I need, but I'll manage them.
Aleya bought me a ticket to the art museum so I might take a day off. I asked her why she didn't buy two so that we may go together. She would only say that if I was out for the day, one of us would have to stay behind and manage things. I suppose she's right. It would have been lovely to have her come along, though. I've grown accustomed to her always being in lock-step with me.
Gladio paid for lunch.
Prompto kept Noctis occupied, which was as good a gift as the others, in my opinion. Noctis has a habit of wandering off if he isn't entertained.
Finally, dinner with my Uncle. I hardly get to spend any time with him anymore. It was nice to simply relax over a nice meal and hash over current events. In truth, my Uncle is probably the only link I'll ever have to my father. He has taken care of me the whole time I've been in the castle. I'm very fond of him, and I wish to look after him as a dutiful son, as long as I am able.
When I went back to the office, I found the lights off and everything neatly put away. I had wanted to ask Aleya how the day went without me, but by the looks of it, she had everything well in hand. I'm certainly not surprised.
14th of February, M.E. 755
Aleya and I finally had a much-needed chat today, though I'll admit I wish it were under different circumstances….
[FLASHBACK]
Ignis heard his office door click open, but he didn't bother to look up. Nor did he need to glance at his watch, for the sun coming through the panes of his window illuminated his desk. He knew the exact time. It would be Aleya, fresh from training, awaiting the schedule for the day. "Pour yourself a cup of coffee if you'd like," he told her, not looking up from his paperwork. "I shan't be but a few moments more."
She went for the coffee, but lingered quite a bit at the bar, keeping her back to him. Pensive, no doubt, as she always seemed to be these days. If he weren't so bloody pressed for time, he'd manage to work in the chat he'd been meaning to have with her. "Something wrong?" he asked, signing and dating the financial report.
She sighed. "Igs. I know you'll think.…I know that you'll feel…." She sighed again. "Maybe you'll be upset with me. But, I've decided to quit."
Ignis paused in mid-stroke of the pen, and his heart gave a protesting pause in it's natural rhythm. When it started again, it raced as if he'd been running for miles. Stunned, he looked up at her. Her back was still turned, so he couldn't read her expression. He could only see her form at the back and her hair neatly pinned, nothing more. "I-I don't—" He set the pen down, noting his fingers trembled slightly. Where did this come from? She had been notably unhappy, of course, but she was so driven. He certainly never would imagine her the type to simply abandon her occupation so suddenly, not to mention abandoning her employer! "I—I didn't realize." He swallowed hard, and stood slowly. "Perhaps I could have you reconsider? Please tell me your thoughts."
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm not suited for it, that's all." She turned to him, head down slightly in embarrassment. "I know I promised you I'd go wherever you go; That I'd be by your side through anything. But I have to face it—" She raised her head and gave him a self-conscious half-smile. "I am definitely not a warrior."
He took in the new bruising at her cheekbone, a ghoulish purple with a finely-sliced line running through her skin. The bleeding was fresh, probably just beginning to clot well. Along with that, her lip was split at the corner.
Appalled, he rounded the desk quickly and approached her. "What happened?" He demanded.
She backed away as if he were going to attack her, bumping into the bar and sloshing scalding coffee over the rim of the mug she was holding in her right hand. She yelped, changing hands quickly to wipe the offending liquid off on the hip of her skirt.
He caught her coffee mug in one hand and her burned fingers in the other. "That's enough injuries for one day, thank you," he noted curtly, reaching past her to place the mug on the bar behind her.
It was then that he realized how close he was to her. He paused, momentarily startled, and caught her gaze. She had noticed their proximity, too. She was blushing, and looked quickly past him to avoid his eyes. "Come," he told her, guiding her to the stool next to them. "Sit for a moment. Let me have a look at this."
"It's nothing," she assured him, even as she allowed herself to be guided along. "I'm sure it will heal."
"Didn't you think to go to the apothecary?" He scolded.
"I would have been late." It was a sheepish reply, but an honest one. Of course she wouldn't have risked tardiness by detouring for a potion or two.
He shook his head, taking her face in his hands to study the new wound. "Silly girl," he chided, "Do you really think I would have held it against you?"
She caught his eye. As always, he caught himself staring back. "Would that do? What would people say about you? That you hired an incompetent and irresponsible secretary?"
His mouth went dry. His heart kept its frenetic pace, and he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. "To hell with their opinions," he finally replied. "You answer only to me."
"And you answer to them. All of them. They are your people."
"The only 'people' I'm concerned with at this particular moment is you." So there it was, out of his mouth before he had a chance to think better of it. Why was his heart hammering so wildly? Why couldn't he tear his eyes away from hers? Why did his stomach plummet at the sight of the wound on her face, and why hadn't he let his grasp loose? Had he lost his mind? "N-now." He hadn't remembered the last time he had stuttered. Maybe the last time was when he had been a child, before the royal court had lectured him into speaking with emboldened self-assurance and conviction. "I'll see to this myself, as you couldn't spare a moment to tend to it."
With that, he turned and rounded the coffee station, to the cabinetry, wishing for all the spark of life within him that he could guzzle a large cistern of ice-cold water.
She tried to assure him. "It's better than it looks."
"A relief, considering it looks horrendous." He glanced at her and saw her lower her head in shame. Hands on the first aid kit, he rounded the station towards her. "But we'll set it right." He couldn't help but make the words gentler. He had caused her despair, after all. If he wore any badge proudly, it was that of 'Gentleman'.
She toyed with her scalded fingers as he set to work on her cheekbone. He dabbed the elixive salve on her wound, gently patting at the offended skin. She flinched. Elixir tended to burn and sting as it set to the wound. Reflexive tears welled up in her eyes. "My apologies," he muttered. When she didn't reply, he continued his work, dabbing with one finger while holding her chin in the other hand. He could smell her hair—a strange scent between apples and a sweet aroma he could only label as vanilla, though it didn't seem the exact description. Her skin smelled of fresh soap as well. It was quite pleasant. He marveled absent-mindedly on how different she was from his normal companions. Women were quieter, for the most part. They carried themselves differently. They were softer. They smelled lovely. He stole another quick glance at her features. Yes, they were often quite attractive, too. "I've told you before," he gently chastised her, "Crownsguard combat training is difficult. You're not suited for it."
She stared back at him, slightly offended. "That's not the problem. I don't mind the difficulty. I'm not a coward."
He returned her gaze coolly, shutting down her protest with a mere gaze. "I never said you were." When she looked away, he continued. "I only meant you're not the type to engage in physical battle. Your prowess lies in different fields of expertise."
"Like what?"
He gave her a brief smile as he dabbed salve on her lower lip. He didn't dare concentrate too much on what he was doing. Conversation was a welcome distraction. "Foreign language, for example. You outclass me."
She giggled, and then made a face as the flesh on her lip gave a protesting tearing sensation. She almost grabbed her mouth with her bare hand, but remembered at the last moment. However, upon raising her hand, Ignis remembered the slight scalding on her fingers. "Impossible."
"No, I'm certain it's true. Furthermore, our young Prince somehow respects you. Can't say I receive the same treatment." He scooped a large amount of salve on the first two fingers of his right hand and prepared to reach for hers.
A bump in his shoulder from the small fist of her right hand. "That's not true, Igs, and you know it. Noctis loves you."
It was true she was speaking of Noctis. But somehow, the way she uttered that phrase was so appealing that it gave him a alight pause. He couldn't chance making eye contact with her in that moment. Instead, he kept his eyes affixed to her dainty fingers—so incredibly small and slender compared to his own—and smeared the salve across her fingers. "Perhaps. Still, we are speaking of your worth, not mine."
"It's a short list."
"I wasn't finished. You've been my right arm. Not a date forgotten, not a meeting postponed, every report complete, every subject matter thoroughly rehearsed. When you are gone, I feel impaired, and I'm quite positive you've ruined my chances at organizing my affairs independently for any foreseeable time in the future." He had finished his work. He chanced raising his eyes to meet hers. "So I beg you to reconsider leaving me."
She was very still, except that her eyes went round, and her mouth parted slightly. Time froze solid. He simply stood there, still holding her hand, staring into her eyes. It wasn't that he had forgotten himself. He wanted to appeal to her. Furthermore, if he was being honest with himself, he rather enjoyed the sensation of her fingertips in his curved hand.
"No."
He frowned.
"N-no, I-I mean—that's not what I meant. I meant I wanted to quit the Crownsguard, not—you."
He felt instantly relieved. He almost physically relaxed. Every muscle seemed to sigh in relief after all that tension. And then, she surprised him once more.
"You know I'd never leave you."
He felt a short breath in his chest—almost a tic—and he held his breath for a moment. The words were gloriously sweet. He knew full well, though, the dangers of hanging on to them. That particular path he dared not tread upon.
17th of February, M.E. 755
The Founder's Day Festival is only a few short days away. Noctis is dreading it, of course. He always does. He's not fond of dressing up and playing his part as heir. He will be making his first official speech; A plan on his Majesty's part to gradually hand over the reins, as it were. He will be reaffirming our dedication to the outer provinces, assuring Insomnia of his devotion, and so forth. He'll do splendidly, though I know he'll most likely sulk afterwards. He's taken me up on my promise last year of an after-party to escape the stuffiness of official proceedings. He's planned an event of his own to 'wind down' after the frivolities end. I'm sure it will stretch on to the morning.
This will be Prompto's first year of being officially invited to the event. He's a wad of nerves, which is understandable.
Due to recent acts of bravery performed by certain members of the Kingsglaive, a few will be invited.
I've also invited Aleya again, this time citing it as a favor to myself. While she's been reluctant, perhaps if she feels she is doing me a service, she will attend. She's most welcome and wanted. She's uncomfortable; Most likely she wishes to avoid attention or draw the ire of the crowd. She's convinced she does not belong at Insomnia's Founders' Day.
Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, were she not there, I would feel the festival would be woefully inadequate.
Sadly, her brother has taken ill and she's used it as an excuse to remain at home. She'll no doubt be looking after him that evening. Pity.
20th of February, M.E. 755
The evening was….quite the evening. The Founder's Day Festival is a day packed with activities, to be sure. I regretted not having my assistant today, as we rushed from one event to the next. Despite the thrills of the day, Noct's upcoming speech hung over me like an ominous cloud.
It's not that I expected poor results. No, not at all. I just exceedingly want him to shine with all the glory that I know him to be capable of. I wanted him to win the trust and respect of the crowd. These people will be his people, after all.
So I didn't rest easy until Noct finished his speech and stepped away, bowing to his Father when he came center-stage. The crowd erupted in applause. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath. When I finally did inhale, the world spun about in a giddy swirl. To think I nearly lost consciousness over a slight case of the nerves. I must address that at once.
By then, it was on into the evening and we had to attend the official ball. Prompto was beside himself. I'm not sure what got him so enamored: the food, the pretty senator's daughters, or the glitz and glamor. I suppose it might have been a mix of all three. I can't fault him, though. He was obviously as proud of his friend as I. Even Gladio seemed to have a shine in his eye.
After Father and Son were presented and the official event began, I grew a bit dismal. I would have liked to have Aleya present, and to witness Noct's coming of age in person, I thought. And yet, as the crowd applauded and dispersed, as the curtain of people parted to reveal a glimpse of the back wall, I saw her there, smiling up at the Prince fondly.
I don't think I've ever been quite so taken aback in my life. I never thought her to be there, especially as she was:
[FLASHBACK]
His mouth went dry. He simply stared, watching the woman in the champagne-colored evening gown that seemed to stand from the wall like a spotlight in the dark. He had always found her quite pretty. Never before, though, had he seen anything so blatantly beautiful.
As he stood mesmerized, he received a rather rude jolt from a large elbow in his back, breaking the pleasant moment. He turned to find Gladio standing next to him. "Well, look who we have here," The Shield drawled, staring in the very same direction. "So she came, huh? She never told me she'd be here."
"Nor I." He fixated upon her again. Yes, it was indeed Aleya Claren, yet not her at all. The business attire with the suit jacket, the sweaty training fatigues—were gone. That garb had been replaced by an extremely form-fitting gown, with bare shoulders and a partially open back. Her hair—usually so tightly wound in a twist or a braid—fell freely down one side of her neck in slight curls. The assistant that barely wore any makeup at all had a delightful shade of rose on her lips, and her eyes were shaded as well. Yes, made up, but not gaudily. Despite her elegance, she was still quite effortlessly Aleya; Looking rather lost and concerned in the swirling mass of highly favored people.
"Well, there's no point standing around here," Gladio told him, patting his shoulder. "I'll go show the little lady a good time."
A sudden infuriated panic ran through Ignis as Gladio began to move away from him. He reached out and grabbed his elbow. "Where are you going?"
He gave him an unconcerned and amused look. "Going to ask her to dance. Why?"
He answered without thinking or a moment's hesitation. "No. I shall ask her myself. I should do it."
"Should?"
"It's my duty. I invited her here. What kind of host would I be if I ignored her? She's my responsibility."
Gladio smirked at him. "What is she? Your daughter, or your pet?"
Ignis glared at him over the top of his glasses. "She's my friend." His voice contained a slight growl. "Hence why I've invited her. Therefore, if you don't mind moving out of my way, I'll…" He began to walk past his friend, but was halted once more.
Gladio grabbed his arm. "Hold up there, Iggy." He nodded her direction, kindly overlooking Ignis' glare. "Looks like someone beat us to it."
Ignis turned, hoping for all the world it was perhaps Noctis, or one of the elderly senators. He would have even settled for Prompto. But no. It was Tredd Furia, looking as if he were trying to coax her into going somewhere with him. He pulled at her wrist as she pushed away, backing for the wall.
Furia! Of all people, Ignis thought, Why did he have to be one of the honored Kingsglaive?
"Hold this," He snarled at Gladio, shoving his wine glass into his chest. Then, with a bewildered Gladio looking on, Ignis uncharacteristically barreled through the crowd towards the beauty in the only champagne gown in the room.
As he grew nearer, he could hear many things in the room: the various conversations and laughter, the violinists tuning their instruments softly in the distance, glasses clinking, and the occasional cough or sneeze. However, he was wholly tuned in to the red-headed cur and the assailed beauty in his line of vision. "Be sensible," Furia was telling her. "No one in this room cares about you. They hate you, and you know it. Come with me. I can show you what it's like to be appreciated." He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close to him; Too close! Ignis felt his blood boil, and he quickened his pace.
"Tredd, I don't want to hurt you," She warned, pushing away from him with an icy glare in her eye. "This is His Majesty's party. It's inappropriate."
He stepped in closer, pinning her to the wall slightly. "That's why we'll leave," he muttered into her ear.
She balled a fist and prepared to strike.
She never had a chance. Ignis stepped in and grabbed his shoulder, shoving him away. "Unhand her!" He snapped.
Furia turned quickly, ready to throw blows, when he found himself once again looking into the glaring eyes of the Prince's personal retainer. "Ah. It's you m-my lord. Grand evening for a grand event, wouldn't you say?"
"It depends on the event you have in mind," he answered, stepping between he and Aleya. "I trust you're not making trouble for my assistant?"
He gave him a polite smile, but anyone could see the anger simmering underneath. "No. In fact, I was about to ask her to dance."
"Then I offer my apologies. She's already promised me the majority of the dances this evening, and I've yet to receive the honor of a single one. I trust you understand." He kept his eyes on the Kingsglaive, but reached out and took Aleya's hand, casually draping it over the crook of his elbow.
"Of course." He bowed, fury turning his skin nearly the color of his hair. "My lady." He locked his eyes on her with a menacing stare. "Some time soon, I'll wager."
She didn't say a word. She maintained perfect poise. But Ignis could feel her hand clench into his arm slightly. "Good evening as well to you, my kinsman."
The waited for a moment, until Tredd Furia was well out of earshot. Ignis turned to her. "I trust he didn't harm you?"
She smiled. "I'm glad you stepped in. I was about to ring his bell."
"I wish you had. You certainly had the right. I've never witnessed such foul behavior towards a lady."
She reached out and began brushing at the lapel of his jacket. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to that. We are at His Majesty's ball, after all." Done with whatever was on his lapel, she turned her attention to his tie, tweaking it a bit. Ever the assistant, she was making sure his appearance was in top form.
"Noct probably would have enjoyed the diversion. He has perfect etiquette, but he rather distastes formality. I trust you'll be able to attend his after-party later this evening?" He couldn't take his eyes away from her. He stared, soaking her in. She was indeed a vision.
She gave him a wary gaze. "Isn't that just for His Highness' closest friends?"
"Do you not consider yourself his friend?"
She hesitated. "Frankly, no. I'm fond of His Highness, of course. But, I'm your secretary; Just a shadow following you about while you look after him. I don't belong in the intimate friendship of His Highness, just as a catoblepas could never reach the station of a zu. Even if I thought I could be his friend, I doubt anyone here would agree with me." She frowned, glancing at her forearm. There was no watch, so something else must have been bothering her. It was only a few moments before that she had been manhandled by the prior ilk. He watched as she pressed two fingers into her upper forearm, rubbing a bit.
He frowned. "You are not just my secretary, and you are not merely a shadow in my stead. You are my partner, Aleya. I am quite convinced that I would not be able to attend to my duties without your help. You are invaluable to me. And His Highness is fond of you as well."
She smiled sweetly at him. In heels, she was nearly his height, but not quite. When had she grown so regal? She walked about with the grace of a ruler, and yet tried so desperately to conceal herself—hugging her back to the furthest wall. It was unfortunate. It was as if she were a bright light, hidden under a fancy gold bowl-All the pomp and circumstance, all the glitter and shine of the castle, and the swirling paint of women who had spent FAR too much time on rouge and silken garments—seemed to try to choke out her glorious ambiance. "You're too generous to me, Boss."
"Then please do me the courtesy of repaying my kindness with a dance." He extended his hand to her.
She froze. "I-Igs. I….I can't."
"I do hope you're not telling me you cannot dance. I recall only a few months ago a very late evening in the park with His Highness and Prompto. I walked up to you and Prompto dancing about rather enjoyably."
She instantly flushed. She had hoped he would never bring that up again. "Iggy, I told you. Prompto was rehearsing for an event. I was just helping him out. No one was supposed to be watching."
"I was watching, and it was splendid."
"You weren't supposed to be, and it was not ballroom dancing! It was just choreography—just messing around. I would have no idea what I'm doing out there." She pointed to the ballroom floor.
"Then allow me to show you." He took her hand, but he was met with immediate resistance.
Her eyes looked slightly misty, as if she were about to cry. Was she truly so horrified to dance with him? He tried to brush off the offense. Perhaps she feared the embarrassment of a mistake, or thought he wouldn't forgive her should she spear his toes with her heels.
"Come now—" He tried to assure her.
"They won't accept it." She said, firmly. "Ignis, these people won't accept this. It wouldn't benefit your reputation at all."
"How could this possibly damage my reputation?" He bewilderingly questioned.
"Look around you. They don't even like us talking together."
At her word, he turned and glanced about, and was surprised to see the number of eyes watching them; the number of faces who stared in black-hearted disdain at their friendly conversation.
She continued. "You've built up your reputation since you were a small boy. You take pride in your standing within the Court. All it takes is one mistake to throw that fine reputation out the window."
"Why should they care?" He challenged, suddenly irate at the mobs of judgemental people about him. "What makes you any different than any other lady of the court?" He had danced with nearly all of them over the years. They came in all ages, shapes, sizes, and positions of rank. Come to think of it, however, they all had one thing in common. They were all Lucian, born in Insomnia. "It cannot simply be your culture or nationality. That's absurdity."
She smiled sadly. "People create division. It doesn't have to be much. Any one simple difference that sets a person apart is an easy target for bias."
He watched her for a moment, weighing her reply, and shook his head. "Nonsense."
"Ignis."
"Such draconian thinking has no place in Insomnia. If we want to discourage such poor behavior, should we not set the proper example?"
She looked desperate for a fleeting moment, as she realized he would not submit to her reasoning.
"We've nothing to be ashamed of, after all. You work for the King, you serve our people, same as I. In fact, it is the same for everyone here."
"But…"
"Besides," he finished, as he reached for her hand again. "I told Furia we were to dance. If we would fail to do so, he would call me a liar. Would that not sully my reputation?"
"Ignis, please." She was turning pale. "I don't want to cause you any harm."
He stepped towards her, hand still patiently extended. He wouldn't let the chance get away. He couldn't! Perhaps she was right, and perhaps people would scorn him. Perhaps the rumors would run rampant. Any other day, those things would matter to him. Why not today? He already knew the answer, though he tried earnestly to search for better excuses. He just had to take this chance to dance with her this evening. If he did not seize this opportunity, he may never get the chance to do so again.
She reached out, but hesitated to meet his fingers. "I—really can't dance, you know."
"None of that." Tired of waiting, he grabbed her hand in his. "All you need is a competent lead. Allow me to demonstrate."
And with that, he escorted a very reluctant Aleya Claren to the center floor. Even when he took her in his arms, she looked as if she would either run for her life or faint out of fear. He gave a slight chuckle. He had never seen her so out of sorts before. "Aleya. Look at me."
Their eyes met, and his heart skipped a beat automatically. He hoped she hadn't noticed, close as they were. He could feel her bare skin under the palm of his hand that rested in the small of her back. He could sense her every breath—short and shallow. She was tense; Stiff with fear. He could smell her hair—the familiar scent of apples and what he had recently identified as almond. "Eyes on me only," he murmured quietly so that only she could hear him, "As if we are the only two in the world. Shut out the rest. They aren't worthy of your interest." His gaze softened as she stared into his eyes. "Relax, and simply follow. Trust me." He had meant to say those words in nonchalance. Why had they exited so tender and soft?
Her shoulders sank a bit as she forced herself to loosen her muscles. She eased the death grip she had on his hand, and repositioned it to meet his gently. She let out a slow breath. "Okay. I trust you."
His mouth turned into a sideways grin. "As you should."
And with that, he stepped to his right, and they began to dance.
[Back to Entry]
Dancing with her was splendid, to be sure. And yet, it troubled me. Why was I so apt to ask her to do so? I've much at stake, including our Prince's future. No, I fear the entire world's future. Am I to be distracted by some attractive woman in a spectacular evening gown? I know far too well where all such things lead. I cannot afford to be sidetracked. I am determined to stay on task.
In any case, it didn't last long. An additional Glaive—a fellow Galahdian—asked her away from me. She was beyond enamored to see him, and certainly did not argue with him regarding dancing. And they performed brilliantly, though I must confess I've never seen the steps before. No doubt a cultural dance of some kind. He kept her for himself for the rest of the evening. First Gladio, now Ulric. Perhaps they simply appeal more to her taste. Perhaps she cares for me not one whit.
But, as I said, it is not as if it matters. A relationship would only serve as a distraction to me. I cannot be distracted, and I won't be.
24th of February, M.E. 755
So much for avoiding distraction. I accidentally slammed my fingers in the desk drawer. Uncharacteristically clumsy of me, to be sure, but it wasn't entirely my fault. I was working on a report. I had asked my assistant to do the final proof-read and she decided to do so by leaning over my shoulder. I turned, and caught an eyeful of the fall of the neckline of her garment. White-hot embarrassment hit me all at once, and I went to push my chair away from the desk. My fingers landed in the drawer as I pushed my knee against it—and there you have it.
In any case, it became worse. When I instinctively pulled my arm away from the drawer, I elbowed Aleya. She caught the blow in her chest. She jolted backwards, and her heel caught the leg of my chair. She tumbled back, and her head hit the wall.
Alarmed, I rushed to her aid.
There we were, in a heap on the floor, when my Uncle decided to pop by the office. At the time, it did not even occur to me to feel shame or humiliation. After all, there were more pressing concerns. For example, determining whether or not I had given my assistant a concussion.
It was only when I noticed the glint in his eyes, and he made such a hasty retreat, that I determined someone could easily misunderstand what had transpired. I'll have to make it a point to clear up the matter when next I meet with him.
Her head was fine. But alas, she had twisted her ankle. After rendering a bit of basic first aid, we managed to get a good laugh out of the whole scenario (though she'll never know what initially launched the confusion). We sat with our backs to the wall, two people in a disheveled mess, and simply laughed for a while. I can't remember the last time I laughed so loudly.
My hair was a mess—Apparently, I had pushed my bangs back with a hand still moist from the ice pack I retrieved for her ankle. When I caught a glimpse of the unceremonious tangle, I meant to put it in its proper place on my forehead. However, Aleya says she thinks it looks rather distinguished; More fitting for a man in my station. She states sweeping my hair back makes me look confident.
Perhaps I'll try grooming it that way intentionally.
Unfortunately, I've forgotten the intent of this entry. Maybe the moral of this particular story is that distractions create incidents….Or perhaps that if one focuses too keenly on avoiding distraction, he nevertheless discovers it.
No. No, the real lesson is there is no point. As long as she is my assistant, there will be distractions. It's best to adapt.
Uncle's birthday is coming soon. Think I'll work on lemon crème for his desert. Of the many concoctions I've presented to him, he's yet to taste anything quite so airy.
Birthday Tarte
Lemon—zest & juice
Sugar
Butter
Graham cracker (form into a crust)
Cinnamon
Condensed sheep milk