- the greatest treat is one made with love.
it starts with her hands, calloused from years of pushing pins and rolling dough into shapes. she is tender, but equally firm. she creates with her whole heart, sometimes not speaking to anyone for hours. you admire her dedication, you have watched her since you were both just young little things, in the window of the bakery... nowhere you think a princess ought to be, but maybe no one else realizes but you that she is one. your mama always said you had the best intuition in town. supernatural almost, you remember she said once, when you had managed to avoid getting knocked into the river below by a runaway market cart.
...what were you talking about again? oh, yes, you remember now.
it starts with her hands, and it follows her to her elbows. elbows bumping closed cabinets, elbows pushing the oven closed when all her are full (again, you note. her hands are always doing something.), elbows knocking into sharp edges of the counter and there's a quiet sound of pain that you would likely have missed, if it were not you who was listening, before she goes right back into it.
it starts with her hands, and it follows her to her elbows, and then it ends with her head. pies balanced perfectly atop her unnaturally golden hair, flour and bits of dough that flew out of the mixing bowl and chocolate marks on her cheeks, because she forgot that she had dipped a finger into the chocolate to make sure it was the right consistency. you watch as she somehow manages not to drop a single crumb of that apple pie, spill a single bit of pudding, or lose a single cookie.
you watch her bake, and bake, and bake. it's all she ever does. you wonder what it's for, why she does it. she never speaks to you, even though you are positive that she knows you're here, wanting to go in and approach her, but afraid to even so much as wave through the glass.
one day, you finally get the courage to ask her. you walk in, hands trembling, ears pinned back in anxiety. your nerves nearly keep you from talking, a scalding flame that goes all the way up your throat, but somehow, you manage to get out. for the first time in years, she stops in the middle of baking.
"why do you bake?" you ask. she simply smiles, and she turns to you fully now, and she dots a bit of cookie dough on your nose, and it's so cold that it makes your nose scrunch up.
she seems to be at a loss for words, as she just sighs and looks down... and then she says, with the warmest, most alive look in her eyes that you have ever seen since you began passing by the bakery each day, "because of love."
after that, cookies become your favorite thing to eat.
