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It was busy in the kitchen, making Calla race around the small space like a madwoman. She preferred it when it was busy, except it meant she couldn’t go into the alleyway. She loved it in the alleyway, with a cigarette and- her vision blurred, and she grasped the side to steady herself. The alleyway was just her and potatoes. Right.
The flood of customers and tables never let up, and she never went out for a smoke, but instead to bed, curling up on her single mattress, the faint scent of smoke and cooking weighed on the room.
***
Calla was in a large kitchen, a huge space with enough room for a brigade of fifty chefs. It was glorious. She spun around, laughing as they prepared as many dishes as their hearts desired, her and Jeyne and Ysabel and Leanne and Jon. She pulled the potatoes out of the oven, and inhaled the scent deeply. She should take these hasselbacks out to- Calla felt her head swim, and black spots appeared in her vision. The customers. They would be arriving soon, so she should get on the hotplate.
It was a busy night, but they ran like a well oiled system, and Calla felt pleased with every cover they served. She pulled herself into the soft bed, the blankets like a duck’s down as she drifted off.
***
“Calla!” She heard the voice, faint, but desperate as she laid in bed. She knew that voice- she knew- Calla clutched her head, and whimpered.
She knew her. She should know- she couldn’t.
Calla could never remember anything. But she wanted that voice.
***
It was dark. The stars sparkled above her, covered by rich brown hair. “Calla?”
Calla looked up, wincing. A cigarette sat, lit in her fingers, and she smiled. She knew that voice.