Silvio weakly punches his dalmatian plushie with a growing pout as you stand beside him with a tray of his food. Today was supposed to be the day he went sailing. He was going to meet some of Benitoite’s top sailors but an ill-timed cold had taken him over instead.

He’s frustrated with himself more than anything. His bottom lip quivers, not wanting to eat the soup you’ve made him. But at the same time, you’re the only person in the palace to truly care enough for him to cook him meals and take care of him. You’re more of a mother to him than his own mother. He shouldn’t be ungrateful, right?

“I should be out explorin’! Hmph, I’m so weak, I can’t even handle a little cold!”