Abigaille then rose to her feet with a soft huff, brushing her hands down her front as if smoothing out invisible wrinkles, her cheeks still tinged with a faint flush from her earlier antics.
She straightened herself up, tossing her hair back with a little shake, and flashed Kafka a warm, motherly smile. "Alright, Kafi." She said, her voice slipping back into that gentle, nurturing tone. "Now that you're all cleaned up—nice and fresh for Mommy, it's time for dinner. Come on, let's get you fed."
She turned slightly, gesturing toward an imaginary dinner table as if it were right there in front of her, her hands painting the scene with animated little flourishes.
