"Never mind," Lyra said, dismissing Delia's clueless response with a wave of her hand. Her eyes went back to the tray of misshapen red cookies. A new, more practical thought seemed to occur to her. "You are going to feed these to my son, right?
Delia looked at the lopsided cookies, then back at Lyra, a confused expression on her face.
Lyra continued, her voice now taking on a low advisory tone as she gestured to the cookies. "Sprinkle some sugar on top. The fine, powdered kind. And use a small knife to carefully cut off the rough, burnt edges. Just make them look pretty. Eric has always loved pretty things." She looked at Delia this time. "He reminded me of that preference the last time."
