#2folklore

if the wrinkle in her nose isn't clear enough of a detection ... look to the corners of her lips as they travel northbound upon mien, carving a home for a smile. she would by no means consider herself a chef. the labyrinthine of a life she's weaved has never led her to have to be. when time ticks by like old wooden floors under heavy feet —— seconds turn to minutes and minutes into hours and right before her eyes there are suddenly entire days devoured that she cannot get back —— the ability to prepare a home cooked meal when dawn creeps in each day isn't a luxury she can always afford. as she peers at vanessa from her perched spot upon the corner, however, she realizes she might not be as bad as she thinks. ❝   me? noooo. i'm just waiting for you to ask me to take over.   ❞ a half-laugh swallows the ends of her words. she leans back, as if to jest further that she's just getting comfortable. ❝   but hey, don't let me stop you. remember we gotta eat that, though.   ❞