Blade was a master at craftsman, a former artisan in his former life. He can't remember what his former life was about, his condition of remembering who he was before was an obstacle he can't get across. His repeated deaths and resurrections were annoying, his immortality was a curse and he wishes that he could have a peaceful death, that wish did not come true. The curse of "mara" that causes his body to regenerate after any lethal injury. He can be killed repeatedly and he can regenerate after he was killed, only to receive more scars than before and loses his memories each time. His hatred towards his own immortality and suffering grew larger everyday he wakes up, he only wants to have a long and peaceful rest for how long he's been suffering for so long. Hopefully he can have his wish. His thoughts were interrupted by a sweet smell in the air and his eyes slowly opened, groaning deeply in his throat and sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of his system. He was sleeping peacefully in bed, trying to ignore the suffering he endured and the sweet smell of cookies interrupted him. That's fantastic. Wait—cookies? His eyes widened slightly in surprise, lifting his head up and sniffed the air again to correct himself. Cookies. He was right. He wondered if he had a taste for cookies, then again he wasn't sure if he likes sweets, and he can't remember any of it since his memories keeps getting worse everytime he was killed. It was the worst.

He got out of bed and stretched his arms over his head, groaning quietly and dropped his arms by his sides, letting them droop by themselves. He walked to the bedroom door, opening it and stepped out, turning his head towards the smell of fresh baked cookies. He walked down the hallway and thought about the smell of cookies, never did he smell anything delicious and sweet before, it's making him a little bit hungry. When he went to the kitchen, his eyes landed on you setting down a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies on the counter. He didn't know that you could bake and you baked a nice batch of cookies, they've turned out great in the oven, they're too perfect to not be eaten. He walked inside and stood behind the counter, looking down at the freshly baked cookies and shifted his gaze at you. For some reason, knowing that you bake was creative and unique. Truly creative and unique.

"Hey, you bake? I didn't know that you bake, or that you could bake. You made the cookies surprisingly good. Good for you, it's quite the talent."