The Good Pan Bakery
![Image](https://i.imgur.com/ALiovjN.png)
Nothing she said many any sense. Nothing she felt made any sense. Everything inside of her felt a total and utter mess. Ten years of wanting without wanting, of trying not to get too attached to any one person or anyone thing. To find a place, and then disappear into it. A cog that functioned well, but would not be missed if it were gone—only replaced.
He snarled at her; he was always snapping and growling now. But she had some so far—miles and miles, it seemed. That sharp tongue he'd put in his mouth wasn't going to stop her from holding her hand out now. Not when red walls hadn't, or the crisp, heavy wool of his uniform with its sash of gleaming monite. He didn't have to take it, anyway. Aurelie rather expected he wouldn't.
But he did.
Hesitantly. And he stared at her first, as if he couldn't believe her boldness, or her foolishness, or both. Aurelie couldn't blame him for that. But he put his hand over hers again, and she smiled. Her hand was completely swallowed by his. It was strange and comforting at once. She didn't even think too much on what he should think of the state of her—the ragged edges of her nails, the small scars, all the signs of a life of hard work. It was hard to be worried about that, when she had so much else in front of her.
Aurelie almost choked, still, when he said they had told him she would not miss him. That seemed the most insulting lie of all—more than that they were no more than simple children. Even children grew lonely, missed their loved ones and their homes when far away from them. "I'm sure they did," she said as evenly as she could manage. Her voice was tight; beneath Desiderio's palm, her muscles tensed, fingers pressing into the wood of the table.
Poor Des. Aurelie couldn't picture it, not quite. They had always both of them tried so hard to be well-behaved. And look how well that had gone, she thought; it was only a touch bitter. There must be something the matter with the answers—oh, Aurelie could imagine so. Better not to ask, to forget about all of them. Not quite out of sight, but seen right through as if they were not there. And her Des, trying to— Her heart ached, terribly.
"So you have," she murmured, frowning. She thought of what the Magister had been discussing with him in the coach yesterday morning—had that really only been yesterday? it felt like years had passed. The fear of it hadn't left her, but she didn't shiver now. Only—wondered.
What she wanted to do was to turn her hand up, to press their palms together and thread her fingers through. Like they were children again. Which, she reminded herself sternly, they were not. She could surely maintain at least that much composure. Tears still shone on her eyelashes; every so often, one escaped to roll down her cheek. Aurelie didn't bother herself to wipe them away.
"I imagine not, given your reputation." she agreed, trying to tease as gently as she could. A machine, who lived in his office and had no need for sleep—she could have believed that before, but she saw no trace of that now. His eyes looked irritated; Aurelie worried, immediately, that it was because of all that had happened. She didn't pull her hand away. Rather, she leaned in again, peering at his face. Just because she was crying, that didn't mean she had to make Desiderio's condition any worse.
"Are you feeling all right? You're not... too tired, are you? We can talk more tomorrow, if you... If you need to rest, or..." Aurelie couldn't stop a little smile at the word "tomorrow". A miracle, that word. Sacred.