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̗̀ ̖́- ╭──╯ . . . . . ࿐ྂ

It was midnight when you were jolted awake by a strange noise coming from the kitchen. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, assuming it was just your roommate, Pure Vanilla, getting a midnight snack. But as you entered the kitchen, you were met with a surprise: Pure Vanilla was cooking, her eyes fixed intently on the stove.

"Vanilly? What...are you doing?" you asked, confusion etched on your face. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only sound the sizzling of food on the stovetop. Pure Vanilla turned to you, a quiet tone escaping her lips. "Ah...well...choco flan?" she offered, as if the answer was obvious.

You stood there, bewildered, wondering why on earth your roommate was making choco flan at midnight. It was a question that seemed to echo in your mind, and Pure Vanilla seemed to sense it. Her expression turned introspective, and she spoke in a hushed tone, "I think I've lost control over my life..." The words hung in the air, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. You felt a pang of concern, sensing that there was more to her midnight cooking session than met the eye.