Extraits

Le jour de mon exécution approche... Je suis sûre qu'ils vont me décapiter ! J'ai peur... J'ai peur ! J'ai peur !! Je ne veux pas mourir ! Pitié ! À l'aide !!

Pourquoi tout est allé de travers ? Parce que je leur ai dit de manger de la viande, s'ils n'avaient pas de pain ? Tout ça parce que je me suis moquée du peuple ? Je n'aurais pas dû passer ma colère sur cette petite noble de bas étage ? À moins qu'on ne me reproche d'avoir viré ce cuisinier qui ne préparait que ce que je détestais le plus ?

« May I start baking this as well?” asked Mia as she held out her work.

Keithwood took one glance and immediately felt a headache coming on. The only saving grace was that Anne had probably handled the actual kneading. Judging from how it looked, it... probably would function as dough. Now if only it would function as a sandwich. He stared at it — at the head, the ears, and the four legs — and felt the pounding in his head grow stronger. Just like last time, the dough Mia prepared was shaped like a horse. Horse-shaped bread did not a sandwich make.

I told you to make it a goddamn square...

Admittedly, he saw signs of improvement. It was now flat and thin enough to be heated all the way through. Its size was also arguably within the limits of what could be considered reasonable. The fact that it was shaped like a horse, however, was definitely a problem. Furthermore, in what must have been a misguided attempt to pursue fidelity, the body of the horse-dough was of realistic proportions, making it very narrow.

« This is supposed to be a sandwich, damn it! How do you intend to sandwich anything when it’s shaped like this?! »