After replacing the sugar with salt, the thought of Beacai’s likely contorted expression upon tasting the cake involuntarily brightened Isis’s mood.
While this act would undoubtedly infuriate Beacai, leading the morbidly twisted evil god to torment her once more, Isis found herself indifferent. She was willing to endure any suffering, so long as it meant witnessing Beacai’s expression of utter defeat.
After all, she only had three days left to live.
Eager for Beacai to taste the cake sooner, Isis quickened her movements. From behind her, Beacai, who had been silently observing, blinked.
“Is Mama very happy?” Beacai asked.
“Yes, I’m certainly happy to bake a cake for my daughter.”
‘I would be even happier if I could see her utterly defeated.’
Isis buried her true intentions deep within her heart, offering a deceptive smile to Beacai. Believing her implicitly, Beacai’s small face beamed with an even more radiant smile, and her legs, swinging beneath the table, quickened their rhythm.
Time trickled by. With the final steps completed, the cake was at last finished. Isis, cradling the plate, set it before Beacai.
“It’s done.”
The cake bore a resemblance to a birthday cake, adorned with intricate patterns crafted from various colored creams. Though Isis considered her own skill rather ordinary, Beacai’s eyes immediately sparkled. She clapped her hands, exclaiming in wonder.
“Wow, it’s so beautiful!”
‘She seemed almost as if she had never seen such a thing before.’
Handing the prepared cutlery to Beacai, Isis untied her apron and offered a faint smile. “Eat,” she prompted.
“Mm!”
Taking up the knife and fork, Beacai delicately sliced off a small piece of cake. She then brought it to her mouth, closing her eyes gracefully as she chewed, seemingly savoring every bite.
Isis, meanwhile, watched Beacai’s face with unwavering intensity, terrified of missing even the slightest hint of discomfort.
Yet, as she continued to observe, her own actions began to strike her as rather comical. At this moment, she felt like nothing more than a wronged child, capable of expressing her discontent only through such petty means.
Such immaturity. If her former elven devotees were to witness her now, they would likely be utterly astounded.
Dismissing these fleeting thoughts, she found herself still unable to resist gazing at Beacai’s face, hoping to catch a glimpse of her anticipated discomfort. Yet, to her bewilderment, even after Beacai cut a second slice of cake, her expression remained one of pure happiness and contentment.
Propping her chin in her hand, Isis found herself utterly perplexed. Eventually, she broke the silence. “…How does it taste?” she ventured.
“It’s truly delicious!”
Beacai looked up, her lips smeared with white cream. She continued eating the cake, a smile gracing her face as she spoke.
“This is my first time having a cake like this. It’s so soft and fluffy, and the taste is genuinely wonderful. I’ve never had anything like it before. Thank you, Mama!”
Beacai’s words made Isis begin to doubt herself. Could it be that she could no longer distinguish between sugar and salt? Had she, in fact, added sugar earlier?
“Pondering this possibility, she retrieved a set of cutlery from the side, then cut a small piece of the cake and placed it into her mouth.
Initially, her mouth was awash with the sweetness of the cream. But moments later, a peculiar, unsettling saltiness began to overwhelm her palate, akin to eating a handful of raw salt. A wave of nausea inexplicably rose within her.
Isis’s initial expression of slight confusion slowly morphed into one of calm detachment. She then set down the half-eaten piece of cake still on her fork.
She was feigning composure.
‘This cake… it’s so salty, so utterly disgusting…’
‘How could Beacai possibly eat this? Did she not detect how different it was from any other cake?’
After observing her for a few more moments, Isis finally posed a question. “Have you never eaten cake before?”
“Hmm, only… only once, I think, when I took Mama away,” Beacai replied.
Beacai’s words caused a memory to surface in Isis’s mind: that night, after she had been forcibly abducted by Beacai. Her hands had been bound by cold iron chains, and Beacai had appeared before her, holding a birthday cake.
After blowing out the candles, Beacai had eaten two bites of the cake. Her smile had been sweet, yet the happiness in her eyes had not reached its depths.
‘Was that truly the first time she had ever tasted cake?’
“…As long as you like the cake I made,” Isis whispered softly.
‘Could she possibly believe that this was how cake was supposed to taste?’
This realization plunged Isis into deeper silence. As Beacai slowly finished the cake, Isis deliberately turned her gaze away, unable to watch her.
After finishing the cake, Beacai moved to Isis’s side, embracing her arm. She leaned in, a familiar, affectionate plea in her voice. “It was truly delicious, Mama. Can you make me cake every day from now on? I want to eat it.”
Observing the white cream at the corner of Beacai’s mouth, Isis instinctively reached out to wipe it away. “You’ll get fat,” she replied with an indulgent tone.
Having performed this intimate gesture without conscious thought, she suddenly froze, her body tensing.
‘This intimate gesture was something she only ever did when interacting with Nona. Why had she extended it to Beacai as well?’
‘Had she become too accustomed? Or had her guard against Beacai truly fallen?’
‘She absolutely could not forget that her mother-daughter relationship with Beacai was a facade, a coerced arrangement. The girl before her was no kind maiden, but a mad, morbidly twisted evil god.’
“Getting fat is a concern only ordinary people need to worry about. I won’t get fat. And even if I did, Mama would still love me, wouldn’t she?”
Beacai continued her affectionate pleading, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in Isis. The latter hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded, offering a soft “Mm.”
Her reply was merely perfunctory, yet Beacai remained utterly delighted. She tugged on Isis’s arm. “Mama, teach me how to make cake,” she urged.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to learn.”
“There are many who bake far better than I do. It would be better for you to learn from them.”
After a moment of consideration, Isis still opted to refuse. If she truly taught Beacai to bake a cake, should they use sugar or salt?
And who would consume the finished product? Would Beacai realize she had been tricked earlier? What if they baked a second salty cake, and Beacai then insisted she eat it?
The mere thought of such a scenario made it impossible for Isis to agree to teach Beacai how to bake.
“No, I only want Mama to teach me.”
At this moment, Beacai was behaving like a disobedient child. She shook Isis’s arm twice, then clapped her hands, signaling a group of maids to enter bearing fresh cake ingredients.
“To ensure Mama would teach me, I specifically instructed them to prepare an extra set of ingredients beforehand, you see.”
Deities, in truth, have no need for sustenance; rather, faith and divine power serve as their nourishment. The little demon maids, on the other hand, consumed blood. Consequently, while Beacai’s divine realm possessed a kitchen, it had always remained devoid of actual ingredients.
She had made sure to instruct the maids to prepare two sets of cake ingredients well in advance, all for this very moment.
During her eighteen years of secretly accompanying Isis, Beacai had observed that while Nona frequently enjoyed cakes made by Isis, Nona herself was utterly incapable of baking and had never once prepared a cake for her own mother.
‘Therefore, if she accomplished these things, wouldn’t it signify that she was superior to Nona? Surely, Mama would love her a little more, wouldn’t she?’