Penelope sailed through the swinging doors of the kitchens, her mind in thought of the encounter. The liaison didn’t seem as cruel as everyone said she was. Hungry, yes, tired perhaps, but cruelty? Penelope was uncertain. That didn’t mean the galdor didn’t have the potential for cruelty, however, that simply meant that she wasn’t in public. And she was a beauty, Penelope noticed but dismissed. Of course, galdori tended to be attractive, they didn’t have to muck about in servitude. They got to perform feats of magic that she would never get to perform. Wear things that passives would never get to wear. For once Penelope wished she could have been in a much more splendid color than blue. Or perhaps that blue was as liberating as the daylit sky.
As she heard the questions from the other gated passives, she muttered words of reassurance. Trying not to tell them that they had made her task harder to appease Vivian. As fingers approached the ladle that rested within stewing apple, she took a ladleful of the aromatic fruit and placed it within a glass bowl, humming to herself. It was the very least she could do. If other passives questioned her motives, she silenced them with a bright smile, as if trying to reassure her fellow peers that all was well.
Which was simple enough to believe until the moment mona entered the kitchen. Freezing as she put the final touches on the spiced apples, a soft gasp escaped her throat. Magic was always an entity that never was her own. Yet, she wanted it, craved it. In fact, despite all the harm it brought to passives, she liked feeling it gracing her skin, touching her mind. Though, she knew that she could never control it. She would never be able to do any of her own on purpose, even if she wanted to. So, even as her fellow brethren tensed and panicked, Penelope instead continued on her tasks, pretending all was well. It wasn't that the passives or Penelope feared the mona, rather it was the person that was most likely welding it. Vivian Rush had quite an infamous history, and who knew what was up her sleeves?
Next was the preparation of the unsweetened tea. That was easy enough to prepare. A chilled glass was taken from an icebox and amber fluid was poured within. Mint and lemon, two necessary accompaniments were placed on the edges of the glass and Penelope’s eyes closed as the monic spell seemed to slink across her skin, a force that she could respect yet also show fear to as well. What if the force decided to attack her? What if it tried to destroy the kitchen?
Yet, despite her fears, it seemed to linger, grazing her flesh and scratching at her scalp. She never knew what kind of spell it was, for she had never been trained in the occult arts, but for once she wished she could understand what it wanted out of them. Was it dangerous? Honestly, it didn't seem to be. However, as it snaked around her head, teasing her throat, the passive decided, perhaps it would be better that she never knew. Perhaps this was a punishment for neglecting the galdor’s drink.
Taking a shaky breath, feeling the monic energy around her, she gazed at her fellow passives as if she was being sent to the gallows. “I think forgetting her drink, annoyed her. I’ll try to see if she’ll stop. Surely, if she is given something she wants, she’ll leave everyone else alone right?” It was obvious to Penelope who exactly was doing this, causing a disturbance in the kitchens with monic energy. So, she tried to soothe the woman’s ire by offering her food and drink, and whatever else she wanted. Just so she wouldn’t torment the kitchen staff again.
Closing her eyes, she felt the monic swirl around her, mockingly forming a noose around her throat before skating across her skin again. Whatever the liaison wanted, she knew she had to oblige, even if she felt much happier in the kitchens, it was simply her duty to serve the galdor. There wasn’t life out there for her, her family had seen to that. So, as she placed both drink and side on another silver tray, she braved a smile, and exited the kitchens, approaching the enchantress with a practiced one.
Be brave, all they want you to do is what they want anyway. What else do you have to lose? Bright green eyes averted the gaze of the fiery-haired woman as she delicately placed both drink and bowl on the table. “And here’s your unsweetened tea and spiced apples, Miss Rush.” Bowing her head once more as she placed the platter against her side, she looked at the woman. “Is there anything else you would like, my lady?” Trying to say what she wanted to say was difficult, but she managed it. “Is there any way to divert your attention away from the kitchens, my lady?"