Remedial Studies

The perfumes smelled... foul. It smelled of smoke, something else... and she watched as Ilaria repeatedly ate a lemon, before testing another vial of the stuff. She knew better than to ask questions, and had eventually moved to sit in a chair in a corner, watching. Curiouser, and curiouser.

And of course, this idle-time merely left her thinking about what her boss had said at the ball... Their preferences seemed to align.

"I feel you should know, I am not partial to men, either. Perhaps that will help you to serve me better."

And then, of course: "I want you to go home and think about it."

Her cheeks flushed with color, briefly, as her mind wandered to consider just what that might mean. She'd made no approach; neither had the other woman. And yet... as she watched Ilaria with her task, she could not help but think about her — she was pretty — in a light she'd never considered before.

Shaken from her thoughts, though, she stood automatically and approached, the desk where presumably a recipe of some kind was written down on parchment. She frowned at the piece of paper, picking it up with delicate fingers, as if it might crumble in her hands.

I... cannot. She responded, cheeks flushed completely, now, but not from curious thoughts. Rather, embarrassment. Tutor has not taught me to read. She held the parchment towards her mistress as she approached, biting her lip.

It was shameful, even a lesser noblewoman should know how to read. But the lines and squiggles meant nothing to her.

@Ilaria Obsidian