Crisseda sighed. "Then humor me. I'll fetch something from the kitchens. Something simple. Bread, fruit. The kitchens made some fresh beef stew earlier, so I can get you some—"
"No stew." The words left Elara's mouth before she could stop them.
She had no way of knowing when or how her memories had been tampered with, only that someone had tampered with them. Eating something made by hands she didn't trust felt like inviting another hand into her mind, pressing another weight onto the fog that already strangled her thoughts. She didn't want to forget what little she still remembered about the novel.
Crisseda looked at her for a long moment, but she finally nodded slowly. "Fine. No stew. I'll find you other things. You have to eat." Her tone left no room for argument.
Elara sighed, exhausted. "Fine."
Satisfied, Crisseda left without another word.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Elara turned to Kyran. He had been silent the whole time, watching.
