The Astley family gathered around the breakfast table, expecting the usual soft morning breads and gentle soups — only to freeze in unison.
Before them sat two brand-new dishes, steaming gently like heavenly offerings placed upon mortal plates.
Garlic–Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes
The mashed potatoes looked almost ethereal.
A smooth, pale-gold cloud spread across the dish, its surface glossy and velvety, almost shining under the morning light. But what stole everyone's breath was the garlic-brown butter cascading over the top.
The butter pooled in warm amber streaks, glistening like molten gold. Tiny browned garlic specks sparkled within it, catching the light like miniature jewels. Thin ribbons of steam swirled upwards, carrying a warm, nutty fragrance that wound through the air like a spell — rich, toasty, buttery, with that unmistakable whisper of caramelized garlic.
It wasn't just food.
It looked like comfort sculpted into existence.
Lisa inhaled softly, eyes almost watering from the aroma alone.
Hash Browns
Beside it rested a plate of hash browns — golden, crisp, and impossibly inviting.
Each piece was a perfect slab of crunchy potato bliss. The outside shimmered with a delicate crisp crust, a mosaic of tiny ridges that promised a satisfying crackle. The edges were darker, bronze-gold, the kind of color only found in expertly fried perfection.
A gentle press of the fork released a faint crackle, followed by the sight of pillowy-soft potato inside — fluffy, tender, and flecked with minced onions and chili.
Their aroma drifted across the table in warm waves:
A savory mix of fried potato, roasted onion, a hint of spice, and the irresistible scent of crisping starch meeting hot oil. It was nostalgic and unfamiliar all at once — like the smell of a festival morning that had somehow wandered into their dining room.
William leaned closer unconsciously, nose twitching.
Even Duke Astley's dignified composure wavered.
The maids standing by the wall swallowed hard in sympathy.
Together, the two dishes didn't just fill the table.
They transformed the breakfast table into something holy — a tiny shrine dedicated to the Potato Goddess who lived in their household.
The Astley family gathered around the breakfast table. When the two unfamiliar dishes were placed before them, they paused — pleasantly surprised.
Lisa leaned in slightly, taking a quiet breath.
"Oh my… this smells wonderful, Saphy. The garlic… and something nutty?"
William sat up straighter, curiosity brightening his eyes.
"These look really different from what we usually have for breakfast. Did you make these yesterday in the kitchen?"
Count Charles examined the dishes with a thoughtful nod.
"The presentation is lovely. Simple, but elegant. You've put real care into this."
Saphy smiled, a little shy.
"They're just mashed potatoes with garlic-brown butter… and hash browns. I wanted to try something new."
William reached out first, carefully scooping a bit of the mashed potato. As soon as he tasted it, his eyebrows rose in quiet surprise.
"...It's so smooth," he said softly. "And the butter… It's richer than usual. The garlic makes it warm, not too strong. This is really good, Saphy."
Lisa tasted next, closing her eyes briefly as the flavor settled.
"Mmm… It's comforting. Very gentle, but the browned butter gives it depth. This might be the best mashed potato I've ever had."
Count Charles tried a small spoonful, nodding slowly as he set his utensil down.
"It's balanced. Soft, creamy, and the aroma is inviting. Excellent work."
Saphy's cheeks warmed with pride.
Then they tried the hash browns.
A quiet crunch sounded when William bit into his. He looked pleasantly surprised again.
"Crispy outside, soft inside… and a bit of onion? This is perfect for breakfast."
Lisa smiled warmly.
"It has a beautiful texture. Light, but satisfying."
Even Count Charles allowed a small smile — rare, but genuine.
"These would pair well with our morning tea. Very well done, Saphy."
Saphy tilted her head, bashful.
"I'm glad you like them…"
Lisa reached over and gently patted her daughter's hand.
"We don't just like them. You've really brought something special to our table."
William nodded in agreement.
"Yeah. You're amazing at this, Saphy."
Count Charles gave a proud, approving nod.
"You truly have a gift."
Saphy beamed quietly, her little heart full.
The simple, warm praises made her happier than any dramatic reaction ever could.
Saphy waited until the last spoonful of mashed potatoes disappeared from Lisa's plate and the final crisp shard of hash brown vanished between William's fingers. Only then did she clear her tiny throat, her legs dangling off the chair as she leaned forward with the confidence of someone who knew she had just shifted the world a little.
"See?" she said, her bright blue eyes glinting.
"Everything you just ate… It's all made from earthfruits. The so-called peasant food."
William paused mid-sip of water, eyebrows lifting. Charles looked down at the dishes again, as if re-evaluating them now that the truth had been spoken aloud.
Saphy tapped her fingers lightly on the table, her voice soft but carrying a strange kind of authority.
"Potato chips. French fries. Mashed potato. Hash browns."
She listed them like precious treasures, each name given a gentle reverence.
Then she placed a hand over her chest.
"Do you see their potential? I believe they can do even more."
Her gaze drifted to the steaming platter, to the golden edges and silky textures still lingering in the air.
"With the right treatment… even something dismissed as common can shine."
A quiet stillness settled over the table.
Not shock—just the kind of silence that comes from realization.
Charles exhaled slowly, a warm, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You're right, Saphy," he said, voice low and thoughtful.
"Food is food. We shouldn't carry prejudices against any ingredient."
He reached over and gently ruffled her hair.
"Never judge a book by its cover," he added, "nor an ingredient by its humble skin."
William nodded beside him, his expression earnest.
"To think earthfruits could taste like this… I never would've believed it."
Saphy grinned, cheeks puffing with pride.
"Well," she said, lifting her chin,
"just wait. I'm not done surprising you."
The next morning, Saphy was summoned to the study once again — but this time, the request came from her mother.
As she approached the heavy wooden door, a strange feeling prickled at the back of her mind. Déjà vu? she thought. Something about this scene felt oddly familiar, as if she had walked into it before.
Pushing the door open, Saphy stepped inside, her small frame quiet on the polished floorboards. The warm morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the room. But it wasn't just her mother who waited.
Three women were already present, each carrying a presence that made Saphy instinctively straighten her posture.
Her mother greeted her with a soft smile. "Saphy, come in. I've brought some guests."
Saphy curtsied lightly and nodded. "Good morning, Mother. Good morning, ladies."
The first woman drew Saphy's attention immediately. Dressed in a nun's uniform, she looked serene yet commanding, like someone who had spent her life devoted to discipline and faith. Her brown hair was neatly tied back, and her face carried a delicate beauty that made her look approachable yet serious. She appeared to be in her early thirties.
The other two were dressed in more practical attire. The older of the pair looked to be in her forties — her work clothes plain, functional, and slightly worn at the edges. There was no mistaking the sternness in her eyes, and she clutched a thick notebook as if it contained the secrets of the world.
The youngest, barely past her late teens, wore similar work clothes but carried a measuring tape slung casually around her neck. She looked curious, alert, and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Saphy's tiny heart thumped with curiosity. Who are these people? And… why am I here again?
Her mother's eyes softened as she gestured toward the women.
"These are our guests, Saphy. They have something to discuss with you."
Saphy's gaze flicked from one to the other, taking in the subtle differences in their expressions, posture, and the faint aura each carried. One exuded calm authority, another a strict diligence, and the third… a restless energy, like a spark waiting to ignite.
Saphy's lips curved into a small, polite smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
The nun inclined her head gracefully, the older woman gave a curt nod, and the youngest offered a bright, expectant smile.
Something told Saphy that this meeting would not be ordinary.
The nun stepped forward, her posture calm and precise, exuding an air of quiet authority.
"Good morning, young lady," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "My name is Susie. I am the vice-head of the nuns of the Church, in Eddleguard."
Saphy nodded politely, tilting her head slightly.
Susie continued, gesturing toward the other two women. "Beside me is Miss Ria. She is a renowned tailor in the city. And this is her assistant, Rei."
The younger woman offered a small, respectful bow, while the older tailor gave a curt nod, her sharp eyes assessing Saphy with professional interest.
Susie's gaze returned to Saphy, softening with warmth. "It is almost time to open the Healing Hall, and we thought you would need an appropriate dress for the occasion."
Saphy's mind flickered with curiosity and a hint of nervousness. A dress? For the Healing Hall… she thought. This must be important…
Her small hands folded neatly in front of her as she met Susie's calm, kind eyes.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice polite but tinged with anticipation.
Saphy could almost guess the reason behind this sudden visit. She tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"If I may ask," she began carefully, "has the type and style of the dress already been decided, or is that still something to be discussed?"
The nun's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Yes. The style has already been decided. We are here to take your measurements."
Saphy blinked at her for a moment, then asked cautiously, "May I ask… what style of dress has been chosen?"
Susie's expression remained calm, serene. "It is a style commonly worn by younger nuns in training. However… yours will have slight deviations."
"Deviations or not," Saphy said, tilting her head, "it's still essentially a nun's dress, isn't it?"
"You are correct, my lady," Susie replied with a quiet nod.
Saphy's small frown deepened. "But… I'm not a nun, though."
"If you are worried that it may cause a problem," Susie said gently, "please rest assured. It is perfectly fine. The dress is only for the occasion and in no way obliges you to take any vows."
Saphy's eyes narrowed slightly, her small hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Is the dress you've brought… shouldn't it be the outfit of a Saintess candidate, would it?"
For a brief moment, the nun's calm composure faltered. A faint blush rose to her cheeks. She had never imagined that Saphy could see through her little thoughts so easily.
Saphy let out a soft sigh, her tone firm but patient.
"I already said, I have no intention of becoming the Saintess. Please… forget about it."
The nun's gaze flickered nervously, avoiding Saphy's direct stare. But Saphy pressed on, unrelenting.
"It's my dress," she said, voice steady. "I should be able to decide how it's designed, correct? Am I wrong in that conjecture?"
Inside, Susie's heart sank. She had hoped her little ploy would work. When she had suggested the idea to the bishop, he had smirked and said, "Saphy is far too clever for this kind of trick." But she still wanted to try.
Now, standing here, it seemed he had been right.
Susie's shoulders slumped slightly. She bowed her head, voice quiet and deflated.
"Yes, my lady. You have free rein over your dress."
Saphy's eyes sparkled just a little, triumphant yet polite, as she allowed herself a small smile.
Saphy then turned her attention to Lady Ria and her assistant, Rei. Standing with her usual poise, she folded her hands neatly and announced, "I am ready to make my choice regarding the dress."
Lady Ria opened her notebook with a practiced flourish, dipping her quill into the inkwell with a soft plop as she prepared to record every detail.
"First of all," Saphy began, voice calm but authoritative, "let me decide the colours. Soft. Pastel green, or a light peach."
"Since I'll be attending to patients, wearing bright colours is not desirable," she added, her tone matter-of-fact, yet with a subtle elegance.
"Make the dress a gown-type," she continued, her gaze sweeping over the two women. "But do not add more than three layers to the skirt."
From the side, Lisa piped up softly, "Add floral patterns with jewels on the dress. And yes, we will provide the jewels ourselves."
Lady Ria nodded as she scribbled each detail into her notebook, her movements precise and deliberate, occasionally pausing to glance at Saphy with professional admiration.
"Very well, my lady," Ria said finally. She handed Rei a small measuring tape, which the young assistant caught deftly. "Rei, please take her measurements so we may begin the work."
Rei approached Saphy carefully, her hands skilled and confident. She measured the small contours of Saphy's shoulders, tracing the line from collarbone to shoulder tip with meticulous care. Each circumference was noted: bust, waist, and hips — every curve recorded with precision. She measured the length from shoulder to floor, carefully marking how the gown would drape, and gently checked the span of her arms, so sleeves could be tailored perfectly for comfort and elegance.
Saphy stood still, her small frame quietly observing every movement, occasionally glancing at Lady Ria's notes to make sure her instructions were being followed precisely. The process was careful, methodical, almost ceremonial — a dance of precision and artistry, ensuring that the final gown would be not only functional but also a true reflection of her taste and personality.
With her measurements carefully taken and every detail of the gown meticulously noted, the preparations for Saphy's dress were finally complete. The soft pastel fabric, the restrained layers, the delicate floral patterns accented with jewels — everything was set to transform the young healer into someone both approachable and dignified.
Saphy stepped back, tilting her head slightly as she observed Lady Ria and Rei tuck away their tools and notes. A sense of satisfaction washed over her — her dress, like her work in the Healing Hall, would be a careful balance of practicality and elegance, gentle yet commanding respect.
Beyond the walls of Astley Castle, anticipation began to stir. News of the upcoming opening of the Healing Hall had spread quietly but steadily through the city. Citizens whispered among themselves: What kind of miracles will this young healer bring? Will she really be able to cure the ailments that have plagued our homes for so long?
Merchants peeked out of their shop windows. Mothers clutched their children a little closer. Even the city's guards glanced toward the castle more often, curiosity mingling with hope. The people had begun to imagine a young girl with golden hair and calm blue eyes, working tirelessly in the hall, bringing relief and comfort to all who came through the doors.
For Saphy, the weight of expectation was light — a gentle pressure rather than a burden. She wasn't here to be a Saintess or a noble prodigy. She was here to heal, to serve, and to share small moments of joy with those who needed it most. And now, with her dress prepared and her station ready, she could step into this new chapter with confidence.
The city awaited her. The Healing Hall awaited her. And Saphy, quietly determined, was ready to show them all what she could do.