I take the bakery.
Crunch is just preferable when it comes to food, and pasta lacks in it… mostly? Curetta style Pizza is crunchy, and it’skindof like lasagna, I guess. And… can noodles be battered and deep fried? I suddenly want deep fried noodles. But only if they’re crunchy.
Walking into a bakery and dreaming of how much better food exists probably isn’t good either. Maybe I should think less? Well, obviously yes. But here specifically.
“You’re next,” a bored woman calls out to me.
I stammer forward to the glass counter, hiding away many sweet doughs. “Could I get the Lawrinian rye bread?”
“Which one?”
“...That one?” I point to the most boring looking one in the display.
“Sure.” She grabs the display piece directly, wraps it in parchment, and stops. “Wait. Did you want it by the slice or in whole?”
“In whole.”
“If you sit at a table, we can give you a knife and butter.”
“No thanks. I prefer just… I’ll just eat it whole.”
“Okay.” She shrugs and hands over the fully wrapped loaf. “Two crescents.”
I hand over two of the coins and sit at a table. The bread chews alright, but I personally prefer it when it’s hot—even if my mother always tells me I should let it cool first.
9:42.
I time my eating to the clock. There’s not much of a point given how I can just eat it while walking… I don’t actually have a counter to that thought.
The time lets my thoughts wander.
Mistress Vincenza’s previous apprentice—because she obviously had one—what happened to her? Maybe him? Them? Whatever. Necromancy means many things, and all those things line up to make a necromancer’s apprentice actually managing todievery concerning.
And she wasn’t picky with me; she didn’t even have competitors for the position. The only comfort is that Stella acted like I was an unusually underqualified pick. Although, Stella could just be wrong. It mightnotbe unusual that no one wanted to apprenticefor Mistress Vincenza.
A needle’s prick might just not be the worst thing I suffer.
I assure myself that I’ll talk with Piero as I linger near Stella’s Luxury Fabrics. He’s familiar. He’s a regular. He’ll have answers.
Because I don’t have the confidence to askher, Mistress Vincenza, who I see walking up to me and—uh, walking past.
“Wait! I’m here!” I yell.
She turns around to look at me, turns back to the door of Stella’s, and then turns back to me with a surprised expression. “Catarina?”
“Y-yes?”
Her eyes dance around me suspiciously. “Stella… did well with you.”
“Thanks! Is it nice?” I pick up the sides of my skirt and take careful steps forward.
“That was the implication of what I said, yes.” She tilts her head. “You might even be considered a competitive candidate if you applied for apprenticeship wearing that.”
More praise. Soft and cooling like an aquifer in a desert. Makes my face red like I’ve been standing in one.
“Don’t take any of that to heart,” she adds in her normal, subdued tone. “How many referrals did they give you?”
“They always do that?” I exclaim, before remembering my plan to hide some of them.
