Burned cookies, burned cakes, burned muffins. Burned, burned,<i>burned</i>.<br/><br/>This would not do. This would not do<i>at all</i>. Morgana was expecting a visitor and as one of the only bakers currently working at the Sinful Succulence, having only recently fired yet another incompetent chef who dreamed of crafting sweetbreads and home cooked meals, she simply could not afford a failure of this caliber. The tray of charred Teemo-shaped biscuits was slid off the baking try and into the trashcan to join his fellow disappointments as the fallen angel began to whip up another batch of dough.<br/><br/>Whilst her title did not match the atmosphere, it was almost fitting in that the room was as hot as a raging inferno, though it did not occur to Morgana at the time that the temperature on the oven may have been set a little<i>too</i>high. She was under stress, so much of it that as she beat away at the bowl, the whisk almost shattered in her too-tight grasp. A high-pitched whistle dominating the air signaled the completion of boiled water to which Morgana was more than thankful for. She dropped the metallic utensil into the sink with a clatter, switching off the preheating oven and wafted over to the kettle to pour herself a relaxing cup of tea.<br/><br/>It did not occur to her also that her sister may be, at this very point, flying with as much speed as she could muster towards her humble bakery-come-home. Her torn wings fluttered, not yet so broken to be unsuable but enough to make her float upwards to grab some sugar from the top of the shelf. Sugar was an expensive commodity here in Noxus, likely due to the strained trade relations this city had with the other city states who were less than impressed with their most recent endeavors. Irregardless, so long as she had some in her possession, the better it would be for business. Everyone loved a good, sugary treat after a long day of hacking away on the battle field.<br/><br/>Morgana spooned some of the white granules into her tea, just a pinch before placing the pot back behind a couple of empty liquor bottles. She brushed away wayward dark feathers on the floor, noting that she should pick it up before it got into her baking, and made her way back to her makeshift lounge. It really was just a room with a couch and a table, books, newspapers and magazines scattered everywhere. A single radio sat on the sill but there was no television to be found. The reason being was simple: she hated it. As she made herself comfortable on the sofa, nestling her wings comfortably behind her low cut dress, Morgana brought the teacup to her lips--<br/><br/><i>"Sister!"</i><br/><br/>A pause. The dangerously hot liquid close to tilting against her parted mouth but Morgana was no longer paying attention to her beverage. The voice was close and all too familiar. Disgustingly so. She scowled as the burning light of her dear sibling's sword singed the walls, her lovely recently painted walls, and the tea crashed to the ground. Its contents splashed against her bare feet but she barely noticed it as her rage grew almost immediately. It was rare for Kayle to visit her but it was not so uncommon that she should visit and send death threats. Well, Morgana was having<i>none</i>of it.<br/><br/>With growl, she thrust her palm out, a large green-black bolt thrown straight towards her sister with intent to disarm, maim and kill. "Get<b>OUT</b>!"