Her gut twists within her and bile rises in the back of her throat. She can hear the squelchy sound of Aunt Cord's spoon plopping into her favored breakfast much as plain as anything, and sends up a silent prayer to her father that when this horrid day is past mayhap not every little thing'll be edged enough to cut at her mind so.

Susan shakes her head, but manages a smile for him. "Not unless thee'd insist," she says, and oh, unlike with her aunt, if he does she'll choke it down somehow. "I'd do better with an orange or an apple, maybe a handful of nuts."