Haley Thistle
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Dragon Boyfriend: Deiphobos (special preview)
🕑 Added 2020-12-01 22:00:03 +0000 UTCStories have been passed down for generations about how the dragons came and forged the lands with their fire and strength. It was not man who first founded what is now known at the Ruby Empire, it was dragons. Back then, the isles that were formed by the dragons were known as gems, each one a different hunting ground and keep for certain tribes of dragons. The Ruby Isle was one of the biggest, becoming what is now home to the Rakshasa and Lizardfolk kingdoms. Your home was once known as the gem Malachite.
Over time, the isles joined together, forming the Dragon’s Chest as it became known before being called the Ruby Empire. Despite this, your home still remained an island south of the Rakshasa shores. Indeed, while Malachite were still in abundance on your home, it was copper that was now the main resource the land produced. The men in your family had been miners for generations, while the women were prodigious cooks.
Even in your earliest memories you were in the kitchen. Your great-grandmother taught you how to make dough and roll it and let it rise. Your grandmother passed down secret recipes and spices that had been in the family for generations. Your mother bestowed upon you cookware and knowledge of presentation on the plate. Even before you had your first blood, you were a master chef in your own right.
Due to your family’s history as great cooks, the women in your family were high sought to become the cooks in the richest homes on the island. Your grandmother still worked for her family, had so for decades. Your mother worked for a family, in the same house you were born in. You had even been working in a family’s house, having started there when you were sixteen, you had now been in their employ for a decade.
It was also family tradition to never cook your best for the family you served. You saved your best for your home, your blood, a trick your great-grandmother taught you to reign during her final days.
“When you work, you do not put love into the food,” she told you. “It does not come out the same, but people who don’t know, will never know. Only those you love will be able to taste that difference, that love, that care. Do not work yourself to death trying to make others see your gifts when in the end, it will not matter to them either way.”
It was coming close to being the birthday of the young daughter of the house. She had been so young when you arrived, barely five. Now, she was celebrating her debut, something which you found utterly remarkable. You had heard your mother, your grandmother, each talking about the celebrations and milestones which they prepared feasts for in the houses they worked. You had certainly had your fair share of feasts, but in your ten years of employ, this felt like the first milestone of the house you witnessed.
Also, this little girl felt like a sister to you. She would hide in the kitchen, even to this day, to escape the bickering of her family. She would watch you cook, sample your work, and had even picked up cooking as a skill in her own right. She loved making bread, kneading and working for hours to create a perfect loaf.
As her birthday drew nearer she talked more about her dresses and who she wanted to dance with. She had idealistic daydreams about meeting the love of her life at that party.
“Are you married?” She asks you one day in the midst of describing a romance with a forgein prince.
You smile back at her. “I am not.”
Her expression widens into shock at this news. “I thought you were!”
You are chopping vegetables that will be fried then tossed in a sauce. “I am not. My family tends to marry older because of how busy we are. Either working in the kitchen, or working in the mines.”
“How awful,” the girl whispers.
