"We do not remember days, we remember moments." - Cesare Pavese

  Aurelia

  The Cincinnati morning air was crisp, a welcome change from the smoke-filled haze of The Iron Orchid. I strolled down the street, my eyes scanning the storefronts, searching for any sign of a "Help Wanted" sign. Each step was a deliberate act of defiance against the fear that gnawed at me, a step towards building a life beyond the gilded cage of the club.

  I was tired of running, tired of the constant uncertainty. I craved stability, a sense of normalcy, a place where I could simply be Aurelia, not just a dancer, not just an object to be used and picked apart. I loved to dance, it was a part of me, but I wanted more than to be a spectacle. I wanted to be seen, to be valued for who I was, not just what I could offer.

  The aroma of warm sugar and cinnamon wafted through the air, drawing me towards a small bakery tucked away in a quiet corner. "The Sweet Surrender," the sign read, its whimsical lettering inviting and warm. Through the large window, I could see trays of golden pastries and intricately decorated cakes. A small "Hiring" sign was propped up against a stack of cookbooks.

  A wave of nostalgia washed over me. I remembered the countless hours spent in my grandmother's kitchen, the comforting rhythm of kneading dough, the sweet scent of vanilla and butter filling the air. Baking had been my sanctuary, a way to express the emotions I couldn't put into words.

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  Hesitantly, I pushed open the door, a small bell tinkling above me. The bakery was cozy and inviting, the walls lined with shelves of colorful jars filled with sprinkles and candies. A woman with flour-dusted hands and a radiant smile greeted me from behind the counter. Her skin had a rich, warm tone, and her eyes were the color of dark honey. Her curly black hair framed her face, adding to her natural warmth.

  "Good morning," she said, her voice warm and welcoming. "How can I help you?"

  Her presence was like a warm hug, a comforting reminder of my grandmother's love. I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time.

  "I saw your sign," I replied, gesturing towards the window. "Are you still hiring?"

  "We are," she said, her eyes lighting up. "We're looking for someone with a passion for baking, someone who can bring a little bit of magic to our customers' lives."

  A flicker of hope ignited within me. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a place here, a way to reclaim a part of myself I thought I had lost.

  "I have some experience," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I used to bake with my grandmother. It was… my favorite thing."

  "That's wonderful," the woman said, her smile widening. "Why don't you tell me more about it?"

  As I spoke, the memories flooded back, vivid and clear. The feel of dough beneath my fingers, the taste of warm cookies fresh from the oven, the joy of creating something beautiful and delicious.

  For a moment, I wasn't just Aurelia Thorne, the dancer with a hidden past, nor was I just an object of scrutiny. I was just a girl who loved to bake, a girl who longed for a taste of home. And in that moment, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time.

  After we talked some more, she decided to hire me on the spot. She asked if I could start right away and see how things went. I agreed eagerly, feeling a surge of excitement I hadn't felt in a long time. As I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to dive into the world of flour and sugar, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I was finally finding my way back to myself.