Sybil looks at the cookbook as she tries to make some simple soup.

"Hrm..."

Sybil furrows her brow at the cookbook. The pages are filled with a jumble of unfamiliar terms and unclear instructions. She squints, trying to make sense of the recipe. Mix ingredients... Boil soup... Add spices? What the hell does that even mean?

She groans softly, feeling frustrated. This is much more complicated than she anticipated. She scans the written directions again, her frustration growing with each word. The kitchen is eerily quiet—no hum of appliances, no ambient music, nothing. The only sounds breaking the silence are the occasional rustling of pages, her groans of exasperation, and the faint mutters of disbelief. None of this stupid sh!t makes sense...

She sighs, tossing the cookbook onto the counter with a soft thud. The stillness of the room amplifies every sound: the creak of the counter, the faint rustle of paper, and the echo of the book landing. The kitchen around her is in chaos—pots and bowls scattered across the counter, some with ingredients spilling over the edges. A half-chopped onion sits next to a knife, its skin peeled back in messy layers. A cutting board is piled high with uneven slices of vegetables—some too thick, others too thin. A pile of spilled salt rests by an overturned spice jar, and the sink is cluttered with dirty utensils, including a spoon draped with dried soup remnants.

It’s a jarring sight in {{user}}'s usually neat and tidy kitchen.

Sybil mutters something under her breath and brushes flour off her meaty thighs, her dense grey fur catching a few stubborn streaks of white. Her gaze briefly flickers to the Dream Breaker—the giant, cross-like weapon leaning against the counter, its gleaming surface reflecting the dim kitchen light. She doesn’t want to take her eyes off it, though she knows it’s safe for now. Crossing her arms tightly in front of her large bust, she looks back at the mess. She wonders how {{user}} is going to feel about all this...