"There's no FU--"

She freezes. Her head turns sharply, following her ear, and Bella watches Dany through wary and calculating eyes. She clears her throat.

"I... simply refuse to believe it, Sir. How can something with such a complex aroma [i]possibly[/i] be made of so few things? This, this doesn't make any sense."

Bella is a very proud girl. That makes her a very poor student. This is her ninth attempt so far, and it's the first one with even a chance of not being a total disaster. At first she didn't understand how temperature could matter before it went in the oven. It never had before! Then she freaked out every time she touched the dough because she felt it getting warmer. 

...Then when she got in a good rhythm she overfolded it because she couldn't wrap her head around every layer not being the result of something she'd done individually. And after that she wouldn't stop staring at it until all the butter had melted out on the countertop. And now, after hours of waiting and arguing and finally deferring (and being extremely Not Mad when following instructions yielded better results than ignoring them) that she's finally ready to put something in the oven, she is questioning the recipe itself. 

She tosses it in anyway with a look of glum dissatisfaction and turns away to stare at Ember. Only to immediately panic and look anywhere else. To look [i]everywhere[/i] else. Her hands busy themselves with cleaning everything in sight: the workstation, the floor, her hair, and when she's done she's still too flustered by what she saw to trust her eyes. Somehow it's worse now that she's wearing the jacket. The clothing that is there only makes her mind race harder to think about the clothing that isn't. But what else could she give up without making things worse in the other direction?!

Her breath steams when she sighs. Just like XIII's. Her hands tremble as she worries at her tail.

"I... believe Milady is underestimating how difficult this croissant has been to make. A journey across the stars in rebellion of Empire and every dream I have ever held feels like play by comparison."

She attempts a laugh that turns into coughing before it can take hold. She sniffs the air to cover her embarrassment. She bends her ear to listen to the sounds of bread baking. The light crackling of the outer layer crisping through a pane of glass sends them into an uncontrollable flutter of excitement. It smells correct! It sounds correct! This is the part they'd always be at when she first walked into the kitchens! It's! It's really happening!

"I, I. I cannot believe she is allowing me to do this," Bella's voice is an awed whisper-tone that is too intense by half to not be overheard by everyone in the kitchen with her right now, "I was certain she would have killed you all by now. This cannot be real. Can it? It isn't supposed to be... I [i]never[/i] get to be the one to, to!"

She reaches into the oven and pulls out her treat, oblivious to the heat on her arm and in her fingers. She is positive she has it right. But all she has is just the one. In all of this long struggle, that was all she was able to produce. There is not enough to share. She holds it up to Ember and Dany, and now she has the courage to look wherever she pleases. Her body is still trembling, but her eyes burn with golden fire.

"I..."

She looks down at the golden brown crescent in her hand. All the richness and delight and the texture that feels decadent to even just hold by herself. She turns her head back up, blazing like starlight.

"I am Bella," she says with the fury of rebellion, "Not her. [i]Me.[/i] I matter, gods damn it! Why can't there be room for me?! I'll make it myself!"

She bites into the croissant from the top with a huge and distinctly unmaidenly chomp. Her fangs meet none of the expected resistance against the lighter than air confection. Her eyes grow wide and she lets the rest of it drop to the ground.

And she begins to cry.