A mischievous glint danced in Orpheus's eyes as he surveyed the well-stocked kitchen. Despite his infrequent culinary ventures, a flicker of experience stirred within him. Memories, hazy and long-forgotten, surfaced – of simpler times, of meals shared with loved ones in sun-drenched kitchens.
He pulled out a heavy cutting board, the smooth wood cool beneath his touch. With a practiced hand, he rummaged through the drawers, selecting a gleaming chef's knife. The weight of the knife felt surprisingly familiar, a comforting reminder of a forgotten skill.
Brynhild, her amusement evident, perched on a nearby stool, watching him with a playful smile.
"So, Lord Victor," she teased, "are you going to grace me with your secret culinary techniques?"
Orpheus gave her a mock-serious look.
"These techniques," he declared with a flourish, "are the product of years of… experimentation."
He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes,
