“Dessert!” he said. “At least half of a meal should consist of dessert, in my opinion; perhaps two-thirds.” He uncovered the dishes; one held profiteroles filled with homemade centicore-milk ice cream and dripping with chocolate sauce, another doughnuts sprinkled with what looked like tiny luminescent gems. “Sugar crystals,” said Nighthand. “Made with kanko spit.” The third was an immense white cream cake topped with bunches of dark blue grapes, the color of nighttime.
