The kitchen of the Layver Family's mansion had been lively even before the sunrise. The chefs were running around the place, with Calary ordered them.
"Tomorrow is our last day to prepare everything. The faster the better—we have to get everything settled before the party started!"
Calary sliced the spicies with inhumane speed and precision. One time, she had a whole garlic in hand. In a blink, the garlic had became a beautiful slices of garlic.
While not as skilled as Calary, the other chefs also do their best. The sounds of cutting from the knives and the cutting tables were like a drum in the the harmony of this place—rhythmic, and non-stop.
"Madam, the soups are ready!" Yelled one of the chefs.
Calary quickly finished what she had in her hands and rushed toward him. Her movement were swift, but not looked restless. She looked more like a dancer that was dancing the melody, fluid, effortless, but fast. She never crashed with the chefs while she was moving around.
