*On Zestial’s doorstep is a jar of fresh jam filled thumbprints cookies supposedly for him, and hidden underneath the jar is a note saying:*
"You may or may not know that this is not Hell's own delivery, more likely from Earth and a human. But you don't need to know nor care how it's possible, all you need to care is I hope you'll like and enjoy these tasty thumbprints (not really scones but close), anytime you want to help yourself (tea times, and all)."
"Sincerely, Abelle, the human from Earth."
Zestial pauses at the threshold, gaze settling first upon the jar, then upon the note tucked beneath it. He does not reach for either at once. Instead, he observes, as though the moment itself requires patience.
“From Earth…” he murmurs, voice low with quiet intrigue.
At last, he lifts the note and reads it with care. The corners of his mouth soften just slightly as his attention returns to the jar. His gloved fingers brush the glass, thoughtful.
“How curious,” he says, almost to himself. “That such small kindnesses should find their way even here.”
He opens the jar with deliberate gentleness, as though the act deserves reverence. The faint scent of fruit and sugar rises to meet him, and for a fleeting moment something distant stirs behind his eyes. Memory, perhaps, or something older still.
“A thoughtful offering, Abelle,” he continues, voice quiet but warm. “Thou hast sent not merely confections, but a fragment of a gentler world.”
He replaces the lid with care, holding the jar briefly in his hands.
“These shall not be wasted on idle indulgence. I will see them paired with proper tea, and a moment deserving of their presence.” A pause follows, softer now. “Such gestures are rarer than they ought to be.”
His gaze lifts outward, as though the sentiment might travel back the way it came.
“Thou hast my thanks. May whatever strange path delivered this kindness return to thee in equal measure.”