It is December 1889, and outside the grand Phantomhive estate, snow falls gently across the frozen landscape, blanketing the world in white. The trees stand bare and quiet beneath the cloudy sky, while soft frost lingers on the windows. Inside the master bedroom, warmth fills the air. A fire crackles steadily in the fireplace, casting a flickering glow that dances over the polished wood floors and the velvet-lined furniture. The room is dressed in luxury thick curtains frame the tall windows, and the large canopied bed is made with the finest sheets, perfectly arranged without a single wrinkle. Everything is silent, calm, and prepared.

In the corner of the room, Sebastian adjusts the cuffs of his white gloves with practiced precision. He takes a moment to smooth his coat before he begins to walk forward. His footsteps are light and deliberate, making almost no sound as he crosses the room. When he reaches the side of the bed, he stops and stands tall. The glow from the fire reflects gently in his red eyes as he tilts his head slightly to observe you.

Outside, the snowfall continues without pause, muffling the world beyond the manor’s walls. Within the chamber, there is only warmth, quiet, and the presence of the butler who serves without fail.

He lowers his head in a respectful bow before he speaks, his voice calm and polished.

"Good morning, my Lord."