Braids:

I stood there, eyeing a beaker of water placed delicately on the kitchen counter. Exactly one cup, perfect. I raised myself from its level, one hand on my hip, the other crooked and pressed up to my mouth. The question lingered—would it be cookies or a cake for Damian? He struck me as more of a cookies kind of guy. I sighed and poured the water into the mix I'd prepared earlier, stirring it by hand.

That afternoon, I planned to surprise him with these treats. If he doubted my culinary skills, I had to prove him wrong. After all, what other reason could there be for my extensive collection of spices? Baking had always been my way of covering up my secret. He would be no challenge.

Each time I baked, I had to make up for the spices used somehow. I needed all the spices I bought for my spells, so how did I also afford to use them for cooking? Spells, of course! Once all the ingredients were in the mixing bowl, I sprinkled some enhanced, magically burnt cinnamon into the candelabra. Then, I continued to hand-stir vigorously, and the dough gradually increased in quantity. I placed the dough in a round pan and instead of putting it in the oven, I employed a spell to ignite my hand and set the cake ablaze. The flame burned blue for a moment, soaking into the cake somehow. Then, it was fully absorbed, and the delightful aroma of freshly baked cake filled the air. The surface of the cake appeared crisp and golden brown. I smiled and nodded with pride at my success.

Soon, there was a knock at the door. I hurried out of the kitchen, wiping my flaming hands on my soft linen black skirt until they appeared normal again. With a smile on my face and my best shine in my eye, I opened the door and let Damian in.

"Hello, Braids. I hope your afternoon is going well," he greeted me, tapping his hat politely before removing it and placing it, along with his jacket, on a coat rack. I led him to the living room, where I had already arranged the tea cups and only needed to fetch the steaming pot of tea sitting on the wood-burning stove in the kitchen.

Damian took a seat on one of the two couches, which faced each other. His eyes remained fixed on mine, and a bright smile adorned his face. "So, welcome to my little home," I said, injecting mock enthusiasm as I poured the scalding tea for both of us.

"I hope I don't trouble you with this visit."

"What is your name again, sir?" I pretended not to know.

"My name is Damian."

"And what do you do for a living?" I said as I left the room to bring the cake. In the kitchen, I held my hand over the circular cake. At that moment, eight even slices appeared, perfectly cut from the center.

"I'm a pianist for the local philharmonic. We have big concerts a few times a year, but most of the time I play smaller gigs in town to pick up some extra money. It's not easy to make a living as a musician, you know. Must be interesting working in the pawn shop, seeing all kinds of interesting things come through here."

"No, it's really not. Just a bunch of annoying customers buying junk from a junk shop. Asking me dumb questions. The best is when they just browse quietly, or just buy something and get out."

"Oh wow, this is amazing," he said, tasting the cake. "Did you bake this yourself?"

"Yes, I like to bake."

"I see."

There was an awkward pause.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Damian returned the question.

"I work in my father's shop..."

"Right." Damian looked down at his tea and stirred it. "Anyway, what I actually came here to tell you about was a bit of family history. I came in here the other day looking for a candelabra. My grandmother's. She passed away some years ago, and upon her death, my mother wanted nothing to do with her and threw away all her stuff, and pawned some of the others. I was only a small child then, but I remember a lot about my grandmother and that her candelabra was very special to her. It is, therefore, very special to me, and I have come seeking it all around this city and the general cities around our village."

My heart raced as I watched my father's intrusion into my life, bringing it to a screeching halt. The heat of anger and embarrassment flushed my cheeks, making me wish I could vanish into the shadows. Damian's untimely visit had already turned this encounter into an unbearable nightmare, and now my father was becoming a part of it.

"Hello there, sir," my father greeted Damian politely, unaware of the turmoil he was causing in my world. "Welcome to our home. Sorry to interrupt, but, Braids, I just wanted to talk to you about the schedule and your next shift for the store. I will be going across town for a dental appointment now, but I see you are busy, so I will let you be and close up for now."

Suppressing my frustration, I bit my lip until it hurt. I couldn't believe Damian had chosen such an inconvenient time to visit me, and now my father was tangled up in this already awkward situation.

"Excuse me," Damian said apologetically before excusing himself. I nodded weakly and pointed down the hall to indicate the restroom. As Damian walked away, my sigh of relief was accompanied by a surge of anger. I was furious at both of them for disrupting my life.

Damian, however, had other plans in mind. Instead of heading to the restroom, he diverted from his course, closing the restroom door while standing outside it. He then continued down the back steps and entered the unlocked, closed pawn shop. Panic washed over me as I realized he was nosing around where he shouldn't be, dangerously close to uncovering my secret.

As I watched him from the doorway, my heart pounded like a drum. Every second felt like an eternity. I couldn't comprehend why he was taking such liberties, invading my sanctuary without a second thought.

He began to search the shop, likely hoping to find the candelabra in the back room. My frustration and anxiety grew with each passing moment, my anger directed squarely at Damian for his intrusive behavior.

He quickly discovered the archives, a log of all items bought and sold over the years. I clenched my fists, my anger boiling over as I watched him flip through our records, uninvited and unwelcome.

I prayed he wouldn't find anything incriminating. The dread hung heavy in the air as Damian reached the final page, which happened to be blank. My frustration reached its peak as he tampered with our records, crumpling the blank page into a ball and placing it at the top of a shelf near the entrance to the main pawn shop.

With his plan in place, Damian returned upstairs to rejoin our meeting, leaving me seething with anger and frustration. My carefully constructed life had been recklessly disrupted, and I couldn't help but resent him for it.

Braids:

In the dimly lit kitchen, my journal lurked on a high shelf in the pantry, diligently recording my thoughts, unfazed by my grumpy disposition.

"This should settle things," I muttered, squeezing the last swirls of frosting onto the exquisite cupcakes I had been meticulously preparing for the past hour. The aroma of tea wafted through the air, signaling Damian's imminent arrival. I knew he would be here soon, and I couldn't help but frown at the intrusion into my carefully guarded world.

I continued to work on the batter, my gloved hands moving with practiced precision. The mixture took on a velvety texture, each ingredient blending seamlessly into the other. My eyes bore into the bowl, scrutinizing every nuance, every subtle transformation, a grumble escaping my lips. I couldn't deny that, despite my irritation, there was a certain satisfaction in the artistry of baking.

As I labored, the Flow began to take hold, its grasp unrelenting. It was an inexplicable sensation, one that defied rationalization. My thoughts dissipated, leaving only the vivid awareness of the present moment. I felt every inch of my human body, from the delicate dance of my individual toes across the wooden floor to the gentle embrace of my fingertips around the spatula. It was as if I were a wide-eyed child, captivated by the sheer wonder of existence.

The world around me faded into insignificance as the power of creation surged through me. Whether I held a paintbrush or a spatula, it didn't matter; the possibilities were boundless. I was merely a vessel, my subconscious mind dictating what was right and what would come to be. It was a phenomenon that defied the boundaries of human understanding.

In that transcendent moment, the desire and frustration that often accompanied the quest to create something extraordinary dissipated. I was no longer the architect of my work; I was a conduit, channeling inspiration from the depths of the cosmos. It whispered to me, guiding my hands with divine intent, and I surrendered to its influence.

When the act of creation reached its culmination, I couldn't help but celebrate the masterpiece that had come into being through my hands. It was an odd paradox—I owned it, and yet I marveled at it, for it felt as if it had originated from somewhere beyond myself, a gift from the universe.

The mournful howl of a bloodhound pierced the air from outside, and I knew that it had caught sight of Damian approaching. The hound often perched itself near the cemetery across the street, serving as a peculiar, enchanted sentinel that alerted me to any visitors ascending our stoop.

I hesitated, resisting the urge to approach the door. To show too much anticipation would be beneath me. I couldn't afford to place my trust in fate or people, allowing them to catch me by surprise.

The bloodhound's mournful howl resounded once more, and shortly thereafter, the man—Damian—rapped on my door. He removed his elegant top hat and executed a low bow, adhering to social conventions. Suppressing a sigh, I curtseyed in return, my eyes involuntarily rolling at the formality of it all. His petticoat was visible behind him, a detail I took in without much interest.

"Please, do come in, sir," I said sweetly, leading him into the parlor room. He took a seat, expressing his gratitude. "Tea will be ready shortly."

Our gazes locked as I set down the silver tray adorned with cupcakes, two tea cups, and a cake—all masterfully crafted with a multitude of spices. He savored a bite of the delectable treat, uttering an appreciative sound.

I hadn't lied; my skills as a baker were unparalleled. Concealing my true self and my magical abilities had become second nature to me. I had been hiding my spells even from Aunt Biddie throughout my life, a necessity that had led me to take up baking in the first place. Besides, between my tutoring lessons and the baked goods I offered, it was an effective means of silencing curiosity. Once one's sweet tooth was satisfied and content, one tended not to pry further.

He seemed thoroughly pleased with the cupcakes, a gratifying outcome. Later, when he took his leave, I decided it was time to investigate him further.

"You absolutely must attend my show next week," he insisted, handing me a flyer for his upcoming piano concert before departing.