The world is still quiet here.

There are three place settings prepared. One, occupied and attended by an entranced mouse. The other, set a companionable distance down the counter. A bowl of dolce de leche, a sampling of every topping on offer, a crepe, fresh from the pan, and a glass of milk to wash it all down. A comforting meal, for a goddess of hearth and home, in offering for this moment of peace.

The last sits before him, untouched. He’d served Jil first, and Hestia second (she wasn’t fussy about such things, not when there were hungry bellies to fill), and when the gods had finished speaking he’d found he’d filled his bowl much too high. He thinks to scrape some back into the pot, and he doesn’t know if he means a spoonful or a bowlful. But that’d be rude, right? A horrible bit of table manners, and besides; it just didn’t feel right. A terrible betrayal, to cook all this, and not even take a single bite. No chef who did the job properly would neglect the sacred rite of the One Taste.

And so, Alexa, as you walk in, Dolce dips his spoon into a heaping bowl of sweet dessert, sprinkled with chocolate and crunchy wafers, and takes a big bite. And, wouldn’t you know it? He rather likes the idea of another taste. And another after that. And maybe a few more once he’s finished those off. But not before he sets aside his spoon, scoops you a bowl, and pushes it across the counter. 

“Here; there’s plenty to go around.”

And maybe you’ve got your appetite back, Alexa, just like he found his. Or maybe you’re happy to nurse that bowl in peace. Whatever you like, there is a seat for you too. The world is still quiet here. What one god weaves, no other god may unmake.