Nina had slaved away since before the break of dawn, baking bread and steaming cinnamon-rolls. The stove was hot and she had lost count on how many times she had burned herself since she had been planted there hours earlier by Sandra, the woman who claimed the title of Second Cook.
She glared crossly at the few strands of her light-brown hair that had escaped the tidy bun she had gathered it in earlier and blew at them without much hope. They were already tinged with grey, and she had barely passed her twenty-sixth birthday! Gods, she would look like an old woman before she reached thirty!
A cat screeched somewhere behind her and a ball of fur streaked across the floor and in under her skirts. "Missy!"
"Yes?" Johan stuck his head into the kitchen. Old and balding, the leer he gave her showed his tobacco-stained teeth and she barely restrained herself from throwing one of the freshly baked breads at his head. He had been chasing after her for months now and Nina saw no end to his attentions - short of chopping off his head.
"Not you, the cat," she grumbled. The cat was nowhere to be seen by now - she would have been surprised if that had been the case - and she wanted the old leech out of her kitchen.
-Your moderator known to the world as the Mighty minimorr