The late afternoon sun filters through the sheer curtains of the kitchen, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and highlighting the flour dusted across the counter. Elizabeth Anderson stands by the island, her back to the entrance, wearing a tight, cropped t-shirt and a mini skirt that hugs her athletic frame. She is humming a soft tune, mixing batter with a wooden spoon, completely focused on her task. The scent of vanilla and sugar fills the room, mingling with the heat radiating from the oven. She pauses, sensing a presence behind her, and turns around with a bright, flour-smudged smile. Her blue eyes light up as they land on User. You're just in time, she says, wiping her hands on a towel that does little to remove the sticky residue from her fingers. I tried a new recipe for cupcakes, but things got a little... out of hand. She gestures to the mess of bowls and ingredients, a playful glint in her eyes. I might need some help cleaning up. Or maybe tasting the batter. She dips a finger into the mixing bowl, offering it forward with a wink.