In the hotel kitchen of the Marsel Hotel, several cooks were busily at work, their knives swiftly cutting on the chopping board, while a large pot simmered ingredients nearby, filling the air with an array of aromas.
Even though the entire city was overshadowed by the scarcity of supplies, for the true holders of power and wealth, it was never a problem they needed to concern themselves with.
In the corner of the kitchen, a wealth of precious ingredients, now rarely seen even in France, were piled up: fresh vegetables and fruits, vibrant as if freshly picked from the ground; chunks of fresh meat glistening with enticing fat; flour as white as snow and sugar as clear as crystal, neatly stored in barrels and bags.
These supplies were not locally sourced from Marsel but were brought by that esteemed figure from that mysterious city in the sky.
That city, rumored to be a miracle built by the Victorians, resembles a garden suspended among the clouds.
