33rd Ashan 717
The manifestation of grand aspirations only ever seemed to take place in his dreams. The elaborately simple decorations of a whimsical restaurant, buried deep within the inner workings of his mind, came to fruition around him with each flip of the pancake. The chairs slid into place, table cloths draped themselves over tables, and flowers dropped into vases.Torches lit themselves, utensils clattered into place. Again, he flipped a suspiciously orange pancake and the final arrangements of imaginary decadence was set into motion.
Music filled the air around Gem, eyes trained on the frying pan before him. He ladled in more pancake batter, a hunger growing. One flip, two; customers, faceless and anonymous, accompanied the music with their chatter. It was not this that comforted him, though. Pumpkin spice was all he could smell, all he could taste. It was delightful. One more trill, and the pancake was done. It joined its predecessors on a plate before being drizzled with a light syrup and garnished with a melting block of cream. The journey, however, was not complete for the pancake. Far from it. The plate was whizzed over to a table, placed before a seat occupied by Gem. An identical plate was presented to the opposite side of the table, and as Gem looked up, he found not the face of his mother, but of someone else.
"Welcome."