The young woman woke up to her mother’s calls for the morning breakfast preparation. She grumbled sleepily as she shuffled down the creaking wooden steps, stretching her arms and trying to wake up. Before she entered the kitchen area, she made her way to a small metal tub filled with warm water. She scooped it up in her hands and splashed it across her face, the water felt delicious, a brief reprieve of the Transylvanian cold that seeped in through every crack in the doors, windows and walls. She heard her mother call to quicken her pace.

“I’m coming, Mama,” she replies as she threads her way around the furniture in the small living space towards the clatter of iron pans, sharp knives and a faint warmth radiating through the small doorway.

“What took you so long, child? Come, take these roots and cut them fine and neatly, not all lumpy and ragged as you did not two morns ago,” her mother’s nagging voice only made her feel more tired, and annoyed.