#post-party

[It’s been a long time since she did it by herself, but Dylan still remembers how to make challah from scratch. She remembers the right amounts of flour and water, oil, eggs and honey. There’s no instant yeast like she’s used to, but the sourdough starter works just as well. She remembers to take a piece of the dough, after kneading it, and burn it. She doesn’t have to say the blessing, but she feels the rhythm of it in her chest. She remembers her aunt’s hands, guiding hers as she braids the strands together. She remembers her cousins trying to attack each other with the egg wash as she brushes it gently over the loaf. She remembers the smell of challah filling the kitchen, and the memory blends with reality as her bread rises in the oven.]

[This is the first time she’s made challah since coming here. She hadn’t been sure it would be allowed, but the Elite she’d asked didn’t seem to mind. It didn’t use a lot of supplies, after all, and it wouldn’t be often. It was only that Purim was coming up- she was pretty sure, at least- and anyway, she was homesick. Maybe the bread would help, and maybe it wouldn’t, but it was better than doing nothing about it.]

[Although it smelled amazing coming out of the oven, Dylan’s loaf wouldn’t win any beauty contests. But to be fair, it was her first time doing it completely on her own, and anyway it wasn’t the looks that counted. Deeply inhaling the aroma, Dylan placed her hands on the loaf and closed her eyes. When she spoke, she could almost hear her family around her, placing their hands over hers or on her shoulders.] Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, haMotzi lechem min haaretz.

[When she opened her eyes again, Dylan realized she had an entire loaf of challah to eat by herself. Alone. The homesickness returned full-force. Dylan was about to do the most depressing thing she’d ever done and just eat it all while crying when she noticed someone watching from the doorway.] Care to join me? It’s fresh out of the oven, and I don’t really want to eat this whole thing on my own.

Which, is what I expected to be doing. Cake is on my bedside table, but I didn’t put it there. Likewise with the champagne in a bucket of ice.

The @diaryoflucia in my bed is a little unexpected. Asleep, even more so. In a helluva a dress, pleasant, but still surprising.

I took a seat on the edge of the bed, and spotted her arm. There’s a tattoo there normally. I took my hand, set it on her arm, and run my thumb across where the tattoo should be. Foundation, and concealer.

Starlight, knowing she couldn’t possibly be aware of the whole bad incident, wrote back and didn’t mention it, adjusting her head bandages.

“Don’t worry, Mena. Take your time. I’m just relaxing at Twilight’s castle right now. I had a...accident. So I’ll be in bed for a while. But you’re welcome to come visit when you drop by and we’ll make up for lost time!