The humans have traveled to be with the male’s mother and her husband. As their abode is quite small, this necessitates that the humans lodge in a local inn. I have learned that many Midgardian inns are indistinguishable from one another. Same key cards that I can nudge not to work, same room, same temperamental heating/cooling device, same bed, same bathroom,
Same little cake by the sink. Sigyn, STOP! We have been over this and over this. Yes, it looks and smells delicious. Yes, it is called a “cake,” but no, it is not actually cake. You cannot eat it.
Oh, very well. Yes, it does bear more than a passing resemblance to that frou-frou confection known as a St. Honoré,
but I guarantee that it is not made of puff pastry, pastry cream, choux puffs and caramelized sugar.*
Just let the “cake” be, dearest. I will magic us up some proper treats later. Promise.
* Did I really just write that? It is possible that Sigyn and I have spent too much time watching the food channels on the humans’ television device. I shall have to desist. Such intimate knowledge of…of pastry is not befitting the god-ruler of this realm — or any other.