At dinner, the one you never ate, of course utensils were there, as so many dinners usually have. When Shadow Milk wasn’t looking, you managed to take one, for your own reasons.

It’s now night, hours have passed since that. You grabbed the fork you had taken, of course that being your only sharp object since Shadow Milk didn’t want a revolt. You raised it up, then stuck it into your flesh. The blood washed over your arm, dripping onto your clothes, which wasn’t noticeable since you had dark enough robes. … Once that fiasco was over with, you went to leave the room, opening the door to see a very mad Shadow Milk right outside…had he known…?