Emii stood before the full-length mirror, cracking her knuckles like a commando preparing for a covert op.
"All right, Goddess Mode activated. Step one: the hair." She pulled her curls back into a tight, utilitarian knot. "We aren't here to flirt with fate; we're here to conquer the kitchen."
She squinted at her reflection, her lip curling in distaste. "This dress is a disaster. I look like I'm about to walk a red carpet, not chop onions. If I step near a stove in this much silk, I'll be a human firework before the water boils."
Then began the massacre.
Gowns of lace and chiffon flew through the air like confetti. Drawers were slammed; wardrobes were ransacked. Silk was tossed over her shoulder until she stood in the center of a fabric battlefield, panting and unsatisfied.
"Nothing!" she growled. "This entire wardrobe is a fashion show with zero survival kits."
A wicked idea sparked. She turned toward the door and shouted, "Mrs. Lynn!"
A few minutes later, the housekeeper appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes, Madam?"
Emii offered a grin so sweet it was practically a hazard. "Mrs. Lynn, I need a favor. I need to borrow something of yours. These fancy outfits are going to catch fire the moment I look at a frying pan."
Mrs. Lynn blinked, her eyes wide. "Mine? My clothes, Miss? Surely you aren't serious."
"Deadly serious," Emii said, hands on her hips. "Don't be nervous. I won't burn them, and once I've successfully fed my brother, I'll make him buy you two designer sets as a thank-you. Deal?"
Mrs. Lynn hesitated, her hands wringing her apron. "It isn't the price, Miss... it's just not fitting for a lady of your station."
"My station is currently 'Hungry,' and that trumps everything. Bring the clothes!"
Twenty minutes later, Emii descended the grand marble staircase. The house went silent. Maids froze mid-step; a tray of crystal glasses rattled dangerously. Emii was wearing the plain, sturdy cotton of a maid's uniform, her hair tied messily, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.
"Miss Emii?" Mrs. Lynn whispered, looking as though she'd seen a ghost in a sensible skirt.
"Where do we keep the spices, Mrs. Lynn? Let's get this revolution started."
Mrs. Lynn's face fell. "We... we don't have any, Miss. You ordered us to throw everything away yesterday. You said the smell gave you a headache. We only have salt and pepper."
Emii waved it off, though her soul died a little inside. "Yesterday-me was an idiot. Today-me is a culinary genius. Grab your purse, Mrs. Lynn. We're going to the supermarket."
"In... in those clothes, Miss? Without a carriage?"
Emii smirked, pulling on a pair of sensible flats. "Of course. I'm undercover. Nobody will recognize a princess when she's dressed as the help."