“So, Lord Abyssal, what are you making for us today?”

“ɪ sʜᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜʟs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ-ᴛɪᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ..”

“Interesting choice of ingredients. Souls have a tendency to sink to the bottom of the mixture; how do you plan on keeping the cake light and airy?

“ɪ sʜᴀʟʟ ᴡʜɪsᴋ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪsᴛᴇɴᴄʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴜsᴇ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴍɪʟᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴅʀʏɴᴇss.”

“Have you thought much about final decoration?”

“ɪ sʜᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏᴜᴛᴇʀ ʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ɢᴀɴᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀʀᴢɪᴘᴀɴ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀs.”

“That sounds delightful, but be sure to keep an eye on the clock.”