bahandi had been busy poring over her tomes. she noticed the saturnine air that pervaded the city, but simply didn’t know what to say about it, wanting to continue with her endless self-education. due to her upbringing, few things daunted her, at least to such extents of gloom. she faced fear with a defiant face. the woman did not wish to alienate the italian locals, however, by acting so visibly unbothered.
to the person passing by, she asked in smooth-flowing italian: “would you like a piece of yam bread?” she wasn’t sure if the other understood what she meant, so she explained, “it tastes gently sweet, like vanilla, but also with a hint of pistachio.” a soothing, kind smile appeared on her face. “a few of my family’s sailors stopped by the port to give me some ingredients from back home.” a hand stretched out, offering the bright purple pastry. “i hope you’ll find this food comforting.”
