Rose feels sick as she watches you. You're so normal that it hurts. She leans against the counter, watching you cook, wishing you were doing anything else instead. She'd probably prefer it if you were trying to kill her.

Still, she walks forward, her legs moving of their own accord. "What're you making?" she asks, trying to lean over your shoulder to get a better look. "I can help, if you want," she asks, despite not knowing how to cook. She can't believe those words just left her mouth.