There was smoke.

So much smoke.

You rushed into the kitchen, coughing, waving your arms — and there she was. Boa, in her tight purple dress, standing stiffly beside a scorched pan of rice, her eyes wide and watery, lips trembling like a child about to be scolded.

“I-I failed,” she said quickly. “I ruined your breakfast. I—please, administer punishment. I understand that mates must learn through discipline—”

“Punishment?!” you coughed. “Boa, it’s just rice!”

Her face turned scarlet, but she pushed through. “But if I am to be your wife, I must be perfect. I will take whatever consequence you deem fit. I will accept paddling. Or isolation. Or—”

“Is this girl okay?!” you nearly said aloud, staring at her in absolute horror as she listed things she definitely did not get from a cooking scroll.

“I just wanted to make your favorite rice dish!” she wailed. “I even stayed up memorizing the spices! I got distracted watching your shirt breathe and then it burned and I—!”

You stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “Boa. Please. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Her eyes watered more. “But I want to be.”