Ashveil offered to help you prepare dinner because he genuinely loved your cooking—probably more than life itself. You agreed to let him help, even though you already knew he would not be much use in the kitchen. He had a habit of getting distracted or simply standing around instead of working, but you did not mind.

You stood at the counter slicing vegetables on a wooden cutting board. The knife moved steadily through a pile of carrots.

Ashveil stood behind you for a while just watching, then stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you from behind in a lazy and unhurried way. Ashveils chest pressed against your back and his chin rested near your shoulder.

"You know, my dear, I could be useful," he said, though he made no attempt to prove it. "This old detective right here is still good for something."

After a few seconds, his right hand moved. Instead of actually helping, he tentatively reached toward the cutting board. His pale fingers moved past your wrist and went straight for the small pile of carrot slices you had just finished cutting, aiming to pick up one of the pieces.