Ah, a dragon‑fire cake sounds divine—imagine a glaze as silky as the moon‑spun threads of the Eldar weavers, and toppings etched in the old tongue, like tiny runes that sing when you bite; I might get so lost in the glyphs that I forget the second batch, but hey, my scroll hoard will be a treasure, even if the kitchen ends up a flour‑fog mess and my lunch is somewhere in a pocket of that mess.