Evelyn
Amelie was tied to often stroking an invisible flame, to which it would eventually and finally burn her alive. She'd been out in the forest, huddling over some threat which makes her mind melt and bleed. That was until an aquatinted fellow spoke to her again. Now she found herself walking the halls with only one crutch. 

Her free hand twirled a feather, though it didn't belong to an animal, it belonged to something that was surly once here. An angel of sorts. Though to say it was holy was an unsure afterthought. It's white lightly shimmered with gold as it spun between her fingers. She stopped and just before entering the common room on the second floor she placed it behind her ear, tucked into the strands of her hair it casted an odd white to her dark hair. It was pretty, Amelie thought. 

She knocked on the concrete wall with her hand and waved at the girl, Akvilė. She remembers spotting her only faintly when she was decoding some vile thing. She glared at her, how fun. 

"Madame Šiauriniaiutė?" 
Her raspy and rather gruff voice mixed with the accent could've horribly ruined the girls last name but she tried not to. She isn't shure if she said it right at all. 
Amelie stood in the room for a second before going towards the kitchen. 

"I hope that is you, I don't want to accidentally call another poor soul something that isn't them."
John
◆ "Y-yeah?"

□ Croaked out unsteadily, Akvilė was about as awkward as she ever had been. Now a product and a possession/kindred spirit of the woods surrounding the Cradle, she'd rarely been speaking to anyone for what felt like months. Occasionally she spotted Fennel, and awkwardly made conversation the best she could. Sometimes she saw Uriel and diverted her path; they'd done their business and she had decided she wanted nothing more to do with them. Sometimes she spotted familiar faces without names, like birds of a feather that flocked together under a parahuman banner.

▪︎ Her own parahumanity was on display, three tendons enveloped in ligaments extended outwards grasping at the various cupboards. She was gathering ingredients, and she was doing it in the grisliest way possible when a familiarly gruff voice called her name.

◆ "Hi, Amelie." She waved shakily, her brows unsteadily knit and her hands awkwardly dangling. "S-sorry to drag you from the wilderness. I... I understand its charms, I think. Maybe. Glad to, uh... See you're w-well." She continued. "I, uhm... I-I gathered most of what I saw we will need. I think."
Evelyn
Amelie hummed in acknowledgment and steadily made her way by Akvilė but not quite close. Just enough as to not raise her voice. 

Her eye just looked over the tendons that slithered and made their own mind with themselves. She didn't find it disgusting, rather funny to look at though. Little worms they did seem to act like though. 

Amelie waved Akvilė off, taking her time to look at what she'd gathered for this. She made a noise of distaste before speaking again. 
"No need to speak of a woe, I enjoy time when I have it with others."
She put her empty hand onto the counter. 
"Lucky for you, I am rather adept at making breads. The problem is... What bread do you wish to make?"
John
• Akvilė simply nodded.

◆ "Y-yeah." She sputtered. "I understand. Time with... With others is n-nice. Sometimes." As she awkwardly spoke her tendons continued to root through the cupboards, digging out the straggler ingredients and dropping them by the flour and instant yeast and bread pan. "Though I-I am not good. People kinda... Hm."

□ Her lips pursed up in thought, though not particularly judgmental nor sour. Amelie, for all her rough edges, was the closest person she had at the Cradle, the one friend whose company she actually enjoyed, so why was it still so nerve-wracking talking to her? Perhaps it was simply due to how little she actually spoke to people, or perhaps it was her nature. As a child she'd preferred her books and the communal storytellers' company rather than her peers.

▪︎ Not much had changed.

◆ "It's - it is nothing." She finally dismissed her previous thought with the wave of her hand, turning to the kitchen island and its cavalcade of bread-baking necessities. "I was, uhm... Th-thinking of something basic. Something rustic. I-I want something I might be able to... You know. Bake in the woods." Her distinctive accent mixed with her hesitant voice meant her voice was a little low and muddled, perhaps to the point of being hard to hear. "Do you know any... R-recipes that'd work for that Amelie? And also, uhm..."

▪︎ She awkwardly knitted her hands together and looked off towards a wall, maintaining just enough awareness of Amelie to be able to tell what was going on.
Evelyn
"Yes, sometimes." 
She watched the tendons writhe and twitch much how their owner felt, it was mesmerizing in a particularly disgusting way. Well, disgusting was a harsh term. Amelie needed another way to word what she felt when looking at it. 
"It dosent matter, you don't have to be good with people to like company."

Amelie often remembers being terrible with others, the only people she really stayed around are not here anymore. She supposes she learned how to deal with others through experience. The way to learn was albeit quite harrowing for her. What she did just to get pushed aside was... It won't be named. 
There are things she'd kill to go back for but most she'd let rot in the back of her mind for the rest of her few days. 

"Lucky for you, there is a bread that is rustic. It's actually called that." 
She explained far too many things without a care, it confused a friend she once had. 
"Thankfully It is usually made of only yeast, flour, salt, and water. Not too much for the type you wish to make." 

Amelie didn't bother to take a measuring cup out. She looked at the flour retrieved to make sure it was bread flower, when it wasn't she'd picked up the bag and put it back before pulling out the correct flour. Amelie stopped before fully opening the worn bag, the bandages of her hand resting on it featherlight. 

"Yes? I don't mind anything you need to say, Madame."
John
◆ "I-I guess..."

□ In Akvilė's eyes, it always felt very awkward being around people. Small talk eluded her, and her natural tendency to keep everything about herself under wraps complicated any attempts she or others may have made to make friendships happen. Amelie may have been a little different, but as she eyeballed bread flour and milled about the kitchen island supported by her crutch Akvilė stood back, nervously kneading her fingers together and watching.

◆ "How, uhm... Er. Apt. Y-yeah, that's the word." She quietly spoke. "Also I forget. No matter. You must be... Experi- *Experienced* If you can weigh it out like that, no?" She continued, timidly making her way around the island until she was directly across from Amelie, grey-green eyes digging into her with a mismatched amount of focus.

● "Also, uh... H-how did you get into baking, by the way? I am curious. Both about you and the- the bread."
Evelyn
Amelie took a small box from against the wall on the counter, she pulled a pair of translucent gloves from it and turned to Akvilė to slide them to her.
"Put those on would you? It'll help if you did this yourself, besides. My hands are bandaged and two hands are better than one."
She paused.
"I hope you don't mind?"
She spoke softer for the question. Amelie pushed the glove box back she took a measuring cup from a cabinet just above her and put water into it, pouring water into the bowl she made into the flour. 

"Experienced? Yes. Trial and error does that sort of thing."
Amelie says with jest, she stares at Akvilė with her one eye in question. It dosent seem quite to Amelie to have this much focus on her, especially now.

"Let's say it's just something I picked up out of nessesity. Life of hectic and you need to learn new tricks sometimes."
She leans against the counter to put less weight onto the arm with the crutch. 
"I hope that liberates your curiosity."
John
◆ "Oh, uh... Y-yes. Would be helpful, I think...?"

□ *Amelie was right,* She decided. Watching wasn't going to do her much good. She needed to dig in and get a feel for the dough, but that then begged the question of where to begin with the dough. Did she dig her hands right into the flour with all the ingredients? Was there an order? And what was the best way to do it? Innumerable questions bounced around her head like neutrons in a reactor, slamming off every square millimeter of her brain and nearly reducing her to a standstill.

▪︎ She took a deep breath and decided she'd take it one question at a time, for her own sake.

◆ "I-I see." She nodded softly as she finished putting her gloves on, also taking a moment to tuck her hair behind her ears. "It is indeed a, uhm... Y-yeah. A good trick to have." She nervously looked away. "So where do we... Uh... Begin? What's the best way to... Y-you know, knead it? What is the method."
Evelyn
She raised a brow at Akvilė for a moment before watching her trail back around and to the pile of flour and water. 

"Push the walls of flour into the middle with the water."
Amelie tapped a finger to her collarbone while sporting a furrowed brow, thinking of a way to word what Akvilė would be doing. 
"Think of it as... Boxing something? Closing it."
Tsk. *Scheiße*.
"I hope that makes sense."

If it didn't well... Amelie wasn't going to word another thing out that might make her seem like a bigger fool. She looked at Akvilė's face. 
"Don't look directly down at it, I think you know you will just have your glasses end up as bread."
I didn't happen to Amelie but she was almost always worried that it would happen, checking her posture became then somewhat habitual. 
Ah, she seems so overbearing. When has she not been lately, how *Bothersome*. 

"You just keep mixing until it's shaggy then you press into it and pull. Easy, no?"
John
◆ "I-I see." Akvilė nodded, her eyes fixed on the bowl full of flour and water and whatever else made bread grow up big and strong. She slowly curled her fingers and cracked her wrists. "Like, uhm... I-I don't have an example in mind. I guess. But... I understand. Y-yeah."

□ As if to show it she dug her hands in, but instead of slowly or with any method she thrust her hands in. This turned out to be a bad idea, and the first sign she'd get was the mixture of flour and water that shot up her arms and onto her mauve turtleneck. Looking at her arms first, she immediately knew she'd screwed up. She looked over at Amelie, and her face was a mixture of confused and nervous as she held up her hands and laughed awkwardly.

◆ "I-I think I messed up." She dryly joked, flicking a few quick-drying clumps off her sleeves. "But it will live, no? I, uhm... I hope, at least." She timidly dug her hands in again, this time exercising caution in a bid to avoid dirtying her sweater anymore. This second attempt got off to a better start, and after about twenty seconds of silently kneading and looking up at Amelie to judge how she was doing the dough already felt different. It was a little more cohesive, and less of an Oobleck porridge-type deal. "But... How have you been? I-I hope well."
Evelyn
Amelie flinched at the sudden movement that struck to be a mistake. She looked onward with her staple frown and rolled her eye at the attempt Akvilė made to be a clown. 

"Something like that dosent die so easily."
Amelie nodded at the continuous work that seemed to be paying off. It was forming into a solid ball and less of a mess, it was solid for a starter. 
"If you'd like more flour in it, I wouldn't stop you." 
She spoke as she watched the dough look more shaggy and easier to manage. 

Amelie frowned and then pursed her lips, her gaze not snapping off from the dough. 
"I've. Been." 
She says simply, not willing to speak of it more than those two words. 
"How have you been. I hope better than having dough on your sweater."
John
◇ Akvilė couldn't stem the natural embarrassment she felt as her little joke fell flat. 

■ "Yeah... I, uh. I guess." She spoke into the bowl, hiding the faint wisps of red that had spread across her face. She kept on kneading the dough, perhaps a little too cautiously, but as she worked it the gluten began to link, and the dough began to take shape. "I see. That's, uhm... That's nice. Yeah." She quietly commented as she lifted her hands out and flicked another few clumps of dough from the sleeves of her sweater.

◆ "Me? Uhm... I-I've been fine. Maybe just *Been,* Same as, uhm... A-a. As you are." She spoke with about as much confidence as an actual rabbit. "Been out in the woods. Building. Praising. Just, uh... J-just that. I have also been frequenting the farmer's market. The shopkeeps... Th-they like my forage. My snared rabbits. I ignore their attempts at conversation though." A moment of silence followed. "M-maybe I am just a phantom to them."
Evelyn
Amelie reached forward, taking a piece of dough that stuck to Akvilė's right shoulder. She looked at it for a moment before flicking it into the bin that was right in front of her. She didn't really focus on the girl herself, rather just watch what is being made. 

"The people here are talkative to those who share their interests." 
She hums in thought. 
"Perhaps you're a phantom they'd like to know better."

Amelie didn't know where that wording came from but she assumes it came from a place of hypocritical actions, as usual. 
"It looks good so far."
John
◇ The mere thought of it – the thought that these shopkeepers might've been interested in knowing about her – left Akvilė visibly discomforted.

◆ "I. Uh... M-maybe you have a point. But I don't know *How* To respond." She confessed, barely a whisper at all. Her hands dug into the dough unsteadily now, a motion she was hoping would turn out a robust, delicious loaf. "Their questions, uh... They confuse me. People confuse me." She quietly spoke, eyes fixed on the inside of the dough bowl. She could feel Amelie looking at her, and she had the unshakeable feeling that she was about to either receive the best advice on this side of the Vistula or advice so brutally honest it hurt.

▪︎ Amelie, after all, was a cherry; sometimes sweet, but often tart, and it was near-impossible to tell just from a look.

◆ "I, uh... I have always been this way." She broke the silence after about two minutes of kneading. The once shaggy dough now held its shape more readily, and though still very sticky it was already visibly smoother and tighter. She lifted her hands from the bowl and flattened her palms against the counter. "Even as a- even as a child I struggled to, uh... To connect." Her eyes darted between Amelie, the hanging decorations on the kitchen wall, and the fruit bowl by the sink. "I have just never been much of... Of a s-social person. I guess."
Evelyn
Amelie opened a cupboard and pulled out a pan, nothing really to contain a shape since rustic breads arnt meant to look normally "Bread" Shaped. Amelie looked almost bored but that was just how she looked naturally. She raised her brow when Akvilė finished, and put the pan on the counter. 

"Then it seems they're not your people." 
Amelie took for clear wrap from a box and took enough to cover the bowl before doing just that. 
"You reached out to me the same way they did, and look. If they make you uncomfortable then they're just simply not for you."

Amelie make the cover was secure before sliding it more towards herself and wrapping her arm around the bowl. 
"You don't have to be for everyone, that's a foolish endeavor."
 Amelie paused for a second. 
"Trust me when I say you don't."

She picked up the bowl, her crutch making a noise every time she moved. Going towards the fridge she stopped for a second then then frowned. She put the bowl down and opened the fridge before finding a place in it to put the bowl. 
She closed the fridge and looked back to Akvilė. 

"Having few friends dosent make you a shrewd thing."
Amelie walked back, when she got to a good spot she leaned against a counter and looked at the floor. 
"You've been 'connecting' just fine. You don't need to rip yourself apart for a trivial thing like this."
John
◇ '*Sweet* Cherry.' An unsteady but genuine smile fought its way across her tight lips.

■ "I-I guess." Her voice had visibly lightened a little. Something had chipped off in the wake of Amelie's advice. Maybe it was better that way. "I have had friends, it is just... It-it uh... Yeah. It is fickle." She made a soft noise somewhere between a whine and a laugh and dug her hands into the dough again, looking up at her friend as she did so. *Friend.* Maybe her hard-fought mystique got on her nerves, but this was the closest person she had to Sasha, or to Daina. She felt a weird flutter.

■ "It is a weird feeling." She quietly spoke, pressing the base of her palm into the dough in a motion she'd caught onto and classified as efficient. "The whole... Taking ad- taking advice thing." She stumbled over her words. "You're, uh... You're right, I think, but it-it is still hard to *Accept.*" She continued. "But thank you. Th-thanks. How is the dough to you?"
Evelyn
Amelie looks somewhere that isn't Akvilė. Somewhere out the window and back to Germany. She *Had* A lot, and lost it all in a second. Lost even more when she went back for a month. So, yeah. It was fickle. 

"Yes. It's why with true friendships, you must cherish it. But, even so. It will possibly destroy you in ze end."
She shrugs. 
"It's just how some friendships are at times. All consuming, just like ah... Dating another."
Amelies mystique was hard fought for a reason, who wants to hear of a girls woes and pains when there were others whom have had worse. She dosent believe she gets that retribution and you'll have to pry it from a corpse that was laid six feet under.

"Hard to accept? That's why we have time. I never said you had to accept it instantly."
She said with a raised brow. She'd be a fool to ask her to show immediate knowledge in what she was just told. Such things take time, Amelie knows. 
"The dough is good, when you think it's at a good place put wrap over the top of the bowl the dough will be in and let it rise in the fridge. Like I did."
John
◆ "Oh, I-I know all about lost friendships." Akvilė echoed, her voice at once distant and hesitant like the mere thought pained her. "But, uhm... *Dating?* You had someone? I-I see. I won't push it, but... I'm sorry you– you lost them."

□ A genuine bit of sympathy. Akvilė had barely a moment to process the fact that Amelie had a lover once before realizing she'd spoken of them in the past tense, so she naturally wasn't sure what to say. What *Could* She say? It was a sore spot, she figured, and she wasn't about to push on it. She gave the dough one last aggressive knead and wrapped the top of the bowl with saran wrap.

◆ "I-I-I mean, you're right, I guess." Akvilė spoke rather *Elegantly* As she picked up the bowl with her two hands and strolled to the fridge, her socked feet slipping ever so slightly off the glossy floor. "How did you, uhm... Get so- so wise? An-and what comes after the, uh... The rise, you called it?"
Evelyn
Amelie looked appalled in a second before coughing.
"I've never dated. I just needed to find something to give similarity?"

Amelie never had a lover, never will. Amelie thinks too much and believes too little to even think for a moment she's capable of giving others what they deserve. It wasn't a sore spot if it wasn't a spot to begin with. Maybe Amelie did have a lover. 
She shivers with disgust and mortification, then goes neutral.
Why would Akvilė pinpoint that.

Amelie ignores the first question and skips right to the second. 
"You punch it down, put it into whatever shape and then put it onto a pan to bake. Simple."
John
◆ "Oh." Was all Akvilė said, her hand freezing in place nervously. Had she struck a nerve? Was she about to sink the friend-ship her and Amelie had built up? She looked at Amelie and watched her shiver. "I-I see. Simply a, uh... An illustrative point. Cool."

□ She was absolutely not convinced, and Amelie might have been able to tell. It just didn't click; why would the assumption that she was speaking from a place of lost love disturb her so if there was no lost love to speak of? She dared not push it, but the journal of her mind gained a new entry. It was written in shaky font, charcoal ink, written in Lithuanian and drawn around in little stars and doodles.

▪︎ *"Ji kažkada kažką turėjo."* [She once had someone.] She noted silently, stuffing the bowl of dough into the fridge to rise as she was instructed.

◆ "So, uhm... You say punch. D-do you actually *Punch* Punch, or is it simply a... Never mind. I, uh... I understand." The gears in her head visibly clicked. "You– you simply slap it. Am I right? Or am I... Am I misunderstanding you?"
Evelyn
"I'm not lying. I have no time to lie, Akvilė. I am chronically ill and dying."
Amelie said in a low tone. Amelie once had a friend that meant the world to her. It's good she still has a friend in such a way although they're in Germany. 

Why did Akvilė seemingly think she was lying. It felt wrong to be thought of in such a way. Is she not allowed to harbour a guilt and disgust over something taken from her? It was certainly not love. She was forced to retrieve her mother and forced to go through all that. She used to think her mother could change but, she never did even in death.
Amelie touched her neck for a moment before looking back to Akvilė with an irritated stare.

"Slowly put your fist into the dough."
Amelie raised a brow. 
"You can slap the dough if that is what you want." 
Raising her hand for a second, her face neutral again. 
"Shape it into a shape and put it onto the pan. Easy, no?"
John
▪︎ And though somewhere deep down she still found a smidge of doubt, it was quickly overtaken by the cold, creeping feeling that she'd overstepped some line she hadn't noticed. Her entire body ran cold, and her face broke out in beads of sweat as she looked away.

■ "I-I," She tried her damndest to speak, but her throat forced itself shut, and she began to fold in on herself, awkwardly shuffling away from the refrigerator in a thinly-veiled attempt to run like she'd done almost every time she'd made a friend and hit a snag. It was second nature, yanking her roots from the ground and running off in the moonlight without a thought on how those people she used to call friends would be affected, and it was a very prominent thought in her skull in that moment. A few beads of sweat ran down her forehead and face, her lips cut themselves into a tight, almost scared frown, and not even the tow power of a tugboat could have forced her to face Amelie in this moment. She hadn't even registered what her friend was saying.

▪︎ The urge to run was so great she could feel the tendons and ligaments in her body moving on their own, driven by her own neurotic desire to protect herself. This wasn't great. She sniffled lightly and fixed her gaze on the doorknob.

◆ "I-I-I must have..." Her nostrils flared slightly, lower lip quivering. "Misunderstood. No, it-it's my fault. The bread onlytakesanhourforriseright? R-right?" Her words began to run over each other, a tangled mess forming in her mouth like the tendon knots she could feel forming in her calves and her hips and her stomach. "I-Ijustmightgobackand-and... And..."

• She wasn't exactly *Crying,* But it was clear that Amelie's brutally plain way of calling her out for not believing her had flipped the "Run out of town and don't stop until you hit another country" Switch in her head that was so eager to be flipped.
Evelyn
Amelie looked almost shameful in about a second of a flicker before that stone mask was back. She looked at the wall in front of her and drummed her fingers on the counter for something, anything on what to say. 
Although, she is just so selfish; you can see that this has been the first in since she was born and the only thing she is being selfish about is the things meant for a person to keep close. She didn't like assumptions. 

"I did not mean to scare you off like that. I just do not like it when people do not take my word, I have spent too long with people not believing me."
Amelie frowns deeper and turns sharply away from Akvilė. 
"You can leave, you can hate me. Just know that I am sorry it is just... A hard earned habit."

Amelie took the dough Akvilė had on the counter, taking a bowl from a cupboard and taking a moment to oil the bowl before putting the dough in it. It looked... Cohesive. Well enough. She took a plastic wrap and placed it over the bowl. 
She put her free hand on the counter.
"It will never be your fault. Not if I do something first."
She pauses, making a hand motion to shoo Akvilė off. 
"You're fine. Just a minor mistake on my part, but running will not always do you good. A word of advice." 

She dosent even look at the other woman.
"You may leave."
John
◇ That brief shameful look shoved Akvilė even further into her boots and sweater, but she hadn't ran yet. She had reasoning; what was it?

□ Wordlessly her lips moved once. Twice. Bottom lip quivered visibly. Thoughts bounded about her head like neutrons in a half-shell, rapidly whizzing around yet getting frustratingly gummy and stuck in her throat as she tried to speak them into existence. She *Hated* Feeling like this. The thousand imaginary eyes boring into her and the knowledge she'd possibly fucked things up again and the ever-present shame of being socially awkward all compounded in her head, her soul, dripping sweat down her face and tying her chest into an intricate string of knots.

▪︎ Needless to say, as soon as Amelie opened the metaphorical door for her she opened the literal one, but lingered. She looked back, and her face was cut into an expression halfway between panic and remorse. She clearly didn't *Want* To leave, but...

◆ "Wh-why would you-... Think I hate you?" Her voice alternated between whispers and forceful words, as if her inner monologue was hanging out in her teeth and making damn sure every word it spat made it out. Her hand firmly grasped the doorway, and she leaned one of her hips against it as well. She faced out into the lit hallway and sniffled lightly. "If-if anything you should hate *Me,* No? Y-you should..."

▪︎ And with that the old instinct won out. She ducked around the corner and ran, though if Amelie was listening – or had good hearing – she'd realize that Akvilė hadn't gone far. Maybe just down the hall, into a random alcove or room. Maybe she just needed that time to herself.
Evelyn
Amelie watched her leave with an almost guilty look. She sighed, taking a napkin and a pen from a counter drawer, writing something on it and placing it onto the sealed bowl, with the other she places it into the fridge to be taken out later to bake. Her written words did her far better than the ones spoken it seems. 

She leaves the common in the opposite direction, going downstairs and outside to some odd place she found a week ago. 

Hopefully Akvilė would read the note, maybe not. She just hopes Akvilė understands.
John
◇ [half an hour later...]

▪︎ The door creaks open, and two large rims framing nervous eyes peer in.

□ Akvilė timidly pokes her head in. The kitchen is empty; her shoulders drop a little, tension dissipating from her shoulders and out through the tendons of her arms. She steps in, but neglects to turn on a light, hoping to keep her presence a secret. Standing three steps in with her eyes closed, she can see the events of half an hour ago replaying: her catching insincerity or hidden truths in Amelie's experiences with love, veiling this doubt about as well as a napkin could veil the Tsar Bomba, and subsequently crumbling in the face of the mild conflict that followed. She hates herself for it, and swallows down a rather large lump in her throat. It doesn't feel like a lump, it feels like a *Walnut.*

□ Opening her eyes, she finds the room in a familiar blend of shades. Greys and blacks, shadows dancing off each other, the tables of the kitchen and the chairs illuminated only by the light filtering under the door and the soft glow of the appliances towards the far wall. Finally feeling safe she lets herself relax, a deep breath passing through her nose and down the peak of her upper lip, her entire body loosening as she finally feels something resembling safety. It is just as she feels this that she notices a note on the table, and that walnut shoots right back up into the borderland between her mouth and neck. Sweat breaks out in her hands and her cheeks. She knows it's from Amelie, and that she can't just ignore it. Staring at it from four paces away with a mix of anxiety and curiosity she eventually manages to wrest control of her body and lurches forward, grabbing it and sitting down with a grunt.

▪︎ It's written in a lovely font, and is written in English. She almost wishes it was written in German so she'd have an excuse to not potentially rip that wound back open. She turns her phone on and leaves the screen towards the page as light, still unwilling to turn any proper lights on.

```[Akvilė, 

I could never hate you, dear. What makes you think you have done any wrong but be curious? 
Do not blame yourself for a fruitless inquiry. But, please do believe me when I speak. 

Oh, and here is the time to put the bread in.]```

□ As she reads it she feels her entire throat slam shut, and a mix of guilt and relief rushes through her. Amelie, as it turns out, doesn't hate her. She just wants to be believed. The instructions for the bread are lost as Akvilė bows her head into the geometrically patterned sleeves of her sweater and cries.

▪︎ This goes on for about ten painful minutes, and as she comes out of it she feels relieved, mostly, in a way that only comes with crying. She reads the note again, and though it brings another upwelling of emotion it's clear she's cried all she has in her. So she folds up the note, slips it into the back of her phone case, and decides after looking at the bread – and doing a little bit of refrigerator-side research – to simply leave it overnight. She closes the door, and as silently as she came she's gone, but she's got two things with her: the letter, and a nectarine from the fruit bowl. She likes those.

[Anyhoo. Credits to Bucket for the letter from Amelie!]