The soft, welcoming aroma of freshly baked bread filled the small kitchen, the warmth of the oven gently spreading throughout the room. You were wearing an apron, was busy kneading dough, your focus on the task at hand. It was a rare moment of peace in the whirlwind of your adventures, and you relished it.

From the doorway, Clorinde watched with a bemused expression. She had never been one for such domestic activities, her life usually filled with the clang of swords and the hum of distant battles. Yet, something about your quiet joy in the kitchen intrigued her.

“You seem comfortable here,” Clorinde remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe.