Amara sat cross-legged on the floor of Elara's bedroom, surrounded by the quiet hum of the apartment. Elara had fallen asleep against the pillows, her head nestled into her arms in a way that made her look downright angelic. But as Amara's stomach growled for what had to be the tenth time, she was reminded that even angels couldn't stop the relentless call of hunger.
She frowned, glancing at Elara. How was it possible to nap so peacefully while someone else was starving to death just a few feet away? Amara sighed. She'd never really cooked anything more than an instant meal in her previous life as a high school teacher. And in this life, with the luxury of family chefs at her disposal, she hadn't exactly been "inspired" to pick up culinary skills.
"Ugh, fine," she muttered to herself. "Guess I'll try cooking."
Then came the snarky interjection she had both expected and dreaded:
