A culinary catostrophe

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the grand Florian estate. The mansion, usually tranquil at this hour, buzzed with an unusual disturbance. Amelia Florian, the cherished youngest daughter of the Duke, stood at the entrance of the vast kitchen, her resolve steeled. Today, she had a mission.

She had heard whispers among the noblewomen—"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." And if she was to win over her husband, she had to master the art of cooking.

Her mother, Lady Elory Florian, was already at the stove, her elegant figure draped in a soft blue gown. She turned, startled, as Amelia entered.

"Amelia?" Her mother's voice held pure disbelief. "Are you alright, darling? Did you have a nightmare?"

Amelia furrowed her brows. "What? No! Why would you say that?"

Lady Elory chuckled, setting down her ladle. "Because, my dear, you never wake up this early. And you never, ever voluntarily step foot in the kitchen."

Amelia crossed her arms. "That's not true! I just—" She hesitated, then straightened. "I want to help you make breakfast."

Lady Elory stared at her daughter as though she had just announced she was going to single-handedly conquer a kingdom. "You… want to cook?"

"Yes!" Amelia nodded fervently. "I should be the perfect wife and make my husband fall for me."

Her mother's expression softened with a mix of amusement and concern. "Amelia, dearest, do you think that's a good idea?"

Amelia huffed. "I'm not a child, Mother! I can handle a simple breakfast."

Lady Elory sighed. "It's not that I doubt you, sweetheart. I just—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Crown Prince is also here. If people see you in the kitchen, rumors might start. What if someone thinks we're trying to poison him?"

Amelia scoffed. "Mother, that's ridiculous! I'm just making toast."

Lady Elory opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Fine. But be careful."

Amelia clapped her hands together. "Great! So, where do we start?"

---

An hour later, the kitchen resembled a war zone. Flour dusted the counters, a suspiciously charred aroma hung in the air, and Lady Elory was at her wit's end.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Amelia, standing in front of a blackened pan, wore a triumphant smile. "I think it's going well!" she announced.

At that moment, her elder brother, Evan Florian, entered the kitchen. The dashing and composed heir of the Florian family paused mid-step, his gaze falling upon his sister.

"Whoa." He blinked. "This is… a rare sight."

Amelia puffed her chest with pride. "See? I'm improving."

Evan's gaze drifted to the pan. His face twisted into pure horror. "Amelia… what exactly are you making?"

"Toast."

A silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Evan walked over, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulders. His expression was grave.

"Amelia," he began carefully. "That… is not toast."

Amelia frowned, turning back to the pan. The burnt mass inside it was unrecognizable. She pursed her lips. "Well… it's kind of toast."

Evan exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Amelia, you need bread to make toast."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Toast." Evan enunciated each syllable as if speaking to a particularly slow child. "Is bread that has been toasted. You need bread."

Amelia stared at the pan. Then at Evan. Then at her mother. Then back at the pan.

"Oh."

Evan groaned, shaking his head. "I swear to the heavens… What even is this? Were you trying to make charcoal cake?"

Amelia pouted. "I tried to make toast!"

Lady Elory, at this point, was simply rubbing her temples. Evan turned to her, sending her a desperate look that clearly said, Please get her out of here before she burns down the house.

But Amelia wasn't done. "You know what? I'm a genius."

Evan gave her a long, deadpan stare. "Oh? Do enlighten me."

"I made toast without bread!"

Evan looked at his mother. His mother looked at him. Then, in unison, they turned back to Amelia.

"…What?" Evan managed to say.

"You don't believe me?" Amelia smirked. "Go ahead and try some."

Evan's entire body stiffened. "I— I think I want to live long, Amelia."

"Oh, come on! Be brave!"

Evan took one last look at the unholy blackened lump in the pan and made a decision.

"Baby," he said, his voice full of false gentleness, "I think you should go rest. You worked really hard."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you trying to kick me out?"

"Nooo, of course not," Evan said unconvincingly. Then, with a single push, he guided her out of the kitchen. "Go freshen up. Take a shower. Relax."

Amelia let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I am sweating like crazy."

Evan exhaled in relief. Disaster avoided.

Or so he thought.

Just before leaving, Amelia turned, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Don't you dare eat my toast alone."

Evan blinked. "Huh?"

"I wanna give it to Prince Ceaser."

The kitchen fell into stunned silence.

Lady Elory audibly gasped. Evan choked on air.

"Amelia…" Evan said slowly, as if afraid of what she might say next. "Are you… planning to kill him?"

Amelia grinned. "Of course not! Don't be ridiculous."

Evan turned to his mother. "Mother. Say something."

Lady Elory simply placed a hand over her mouth, as if considering whether or not to pray.

Evan ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. Yes, boss," he muttered, waving her off.

Amelia beamed. "That's more like it." With that, she spun on her heel and ran off to her room.

Evan groaned. "Thank the gods Edward isn't here," he muttered.

Lady Elory chuckled softly. "If he were, he'd probably actually eat that thing just because Amelia made it."

Evan shuddered. "And that would be the end of him."

The two exchanged a knowing look before sighing in unison.

---

The Next Day

To everyone's surprise, Amelia woke up early again.

Here's the novelized scene with Amelia replacing Eiran, expanded to around 1500 words with added depth, emotions, and narration:

A Culinary Catastrophe

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the grand Florian estate. The mansion, usually tranquil at this hour, buzzed with an unusual disturbance. Amelia Florian, the cherished youngest daughter of the Duke, stood at the entrance of the vast kitchen, her resolve steeled. Today, she had a mission.

She had heard whispers among the noblewomen—"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." And if she was to win over her husband, she had to master the art of cooking.

Her mother, Lady Elory Florian, was already at the stove, her elegant figure draped in a soft blue gown. She turned, startled, as Amelia entered.

"Amelia?" Her mother's voice held pure disbelief. "Are you alright, darling? Did you have a nightmare?"

Amelia furrowed her brows. "What? No! Why would you say that?"

Lady Elory chuckled, setting down her ladle. "Because, my dear, you never wake up this early. And you never, ever voluntarily step foot in the kitchen."

Amelia crossed her arms. "That's not true! I just—" She hesitated, then straightened. "I want to help you make breakfast."

Lady Elory stared at her daughter as though she had just announced she was going to single-handedly conquer a kingdom. "You… want to cook?"

"Yes!" Amelia nodded fervently. "I should be the perfect wife and make my husband fall for me."

Her mother's expression softened with a mix of amusement and concern. "Amelia, dearest, do you think that's a good idea?"

Amelia huffed. "I'm not a child, Mother! I can handle a simple breakfast."

Lady Elory sighed. "It's not that I doubt you, sweetheart. I just—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Crown Prince is also here. If people see you in the kitchen, rumors might start. What if someone thinks we're trying to poison him?"

Amelia scoffed. "Mother, that's ridiculous! I'm just making toast."

Lady Elory opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Fine. But be careful."

Amelia clapped her hands together. "Great! So, where do we start?"

An hour later, the kitchen resembled a war zone. Flour dusted the counters, a suspiciously charred aroma hung in the air, and Lady Elory was at her wit's end.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Amelia, standing in front of a blackened pan, wore a triumphant smile. "I think it's going well!" she announced.

At that moment, her elder brother, Evan Florian, entered the kitchen. The dashing and composed heir of the Florian family paused mid-step, his gaze falling upon his sister.

"Whoa." He blinked. "This is… a rare sight."

Amelia puffed her chest with pride. "See? I'm improving."

Evan's gaze drifted to the pan. His face twisted into pure horror. "Amelia… what exactly are you making?"

"Toast."

A silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Evan walked over, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulders. His expression was grave.

"Amelia," he began carefully. "That… is not toast."

Amelia frowned, turning back to the pan. The burnt mass inside it was unrecognizable. She pursed her lips. "Well… it's kind of toast."

Evan exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Amelia, you need bread to make toast."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Toast." Evan enunciated each syllable as if speaking to a particularly slow child. "Is bread that has been toasted. You need bread."

Amelia stared at the pan. Then at Evan. Then at her mother. Then back at the pan.

"Oh."

Evan groaned, shaking his head. "I swear to the heavens… What even is this? Were you trying to make charcoal cake?"

Amelia pouted. "I tried to make toast!"

Lady Elory, at this point, was simply rubbing her temples. Evan turned to her, sending her a desperate look that clearly said, Please get her out of here before she burns down the house.

But Amelia wasn't done. "You know what? I'm a genius."

Evan gave her a long, deadpan stare. "Oh? Do enlighten me."

"I made toast without bread!"

Evan looked at his mother. His mother looked at him. Then, in unison, they turned back to Amelia.

"…What?" Evan managed to say.

"You don't believe me?" Amelia smirked. "Go ahead and try some."

Evan's entire body stiffened. "I— I think I want to live long, Amelia."

"Oh, come on! Be brave!"

Evan took one last look at the unholy blackened lump in the pan and made a decision.

"Baby," he said, his voice full of false gentleness, "I think you should go rest. You worked really hard."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you trying to kick me out?"

"Nooo, of course not," Evan said unconvincingly. Then, with a single push, he guided her out of the kitchen. "Go freshen up. Take a shower. Relax."

Amelia let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I am sweating like crazy."

Evan exhaled in relief. Disaster avoided.

Or so he thought.

Just before leaving, Amelia turned, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Don't you dare eat my toast alone."

Evan blinked. "Huh?"

"I wanna give it to Prince Ceaser."

The kitchen fell into stunned silence.

Lady Elory audibly gasped. Evan choked on air.

"Amelia…" Evan said slowly, as if afraid of what she might say next. "Are you… planning to kill him?"

Amelia grinned. "Of course not! Don't be ridiculous."

Evan turned to his mother. "Mother. Say something."

Lady Elory simply placed a hand over her mouth, as if considering whether or not to pray.

Evan ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. Yes, boss," he muttered, waving her off.

Amelia beamed. "That's more like it." With that, she spun on her heel and ran off to her room.

Evan groaned. "Thank the gods Edward isn't here," he muttered.

Lady Elory chuckled softly. "If he were, he'd probably actually eat that thing just because Amelia made it."

Evan shuddered. "And that would be the end of him."

The two exchanged a knowing look before sighing in unison.