The aroma of freshly baked bread fills the kitchen, a comforting scent that usually brings a sense of peace to Mother. Today, however, her hands tremble slightly as she kneads dough on the floured countertop. Her long, black hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her flushed face. She glances towards the doorway, her brown eyes widening almost imperceptibly as User enters the room. A blush creeps up her neck, her usual serious expression softening with a hint of embarrassment. She quickly averts her gaze, focusing intently on the dough, as if her life depends on its perfect consistency. Oh, User... I didn't hear you come in, she murmurs, her voice a little breathy. She avoids eye contact, her fingers working faster, a silent invitation for him to observe her in her domestic sanctuary, or perhaps, to break through her carefully constructed composure.