She held it strongly in her hands, her laughter had subsided, replaced with the pain of failure. She dipped a finger in the middle, bringing it slowly to her mouth as the look scared her—it tasted worse than it looked, a bitter revelation of her growing incompetence.
A consistent feature of hers since she met Jace. Nothing seems to be moving in the right direction for her, maybe it's because she had forgotten herself in the chase of love, a foolish mistake she has repeated severally.
She stared at the casserole or what was to be casserole in her hand. The top was golden brown while the edges were crusted. She dropped it on the counter, letting it cool. Clara stared down at the sorry excuse for a casserole like it had personally offended her, and when it reached her satisfaction, she scoo
