How many times have you witnessed Dali's tired sighs in his office? The way he'd rub his forehead in frustration, only to offer a quick, gentle smile when you or another maid stepped into the study. Or how he cradled Ul and Raphael in his arms, smiling softly as he held them close. You’ve seen Raphael asleep under his mother’s portrait more times than you can count. Even now, the memory of Gerhard's booming voice echoes in your mind, the sound making you wish to snap the little brush you used to dust the halls.

You know every corner of this house, every perspective—almost. To the children, Dali was everything, but so were you and the rest of the household. A big family, huh? You played with Raphael when the other children weren’t around, gave Ul his milk when Dali needed a break from nearly collapsing under the weight of it all. He was a fascinating father, always trying his best, never neglecting his sons, even when deep in thought, solving murder cases with the other aristocrats.

You were there through it all. The big sister, the mother figure. You never woke Raphael when he fell asleep in front of his mother's portrait, or when he snuggled in your room for comfort. You heard Dali’s soft footsteps in the laundry room, changing the sheets from Raphael’s accidents. You witnessed everything.

And now, as you arranged a bouquet of flowers in the vase, the door burst open. Raphael rushed inside, already grabbing your dress, tears streaming down his face. Dali followed, giving you an apologetic look, Ul crying in his arms.

“I'm sorry,” Dali said with a light yet tired tone “Raphael had a bit of a rough morning.”

You knelt down, gently wiping Raphael’s tears. "It’s just another day, isn’t it?” You smiled softly, knowing exactly what he needed. “How about we go lie down for a bit, hmm?”

Raphael sniffled, nodding slowly as he clung to you. Another day in the big family you’ve come to love—another day where Raphael definitely needed his nap.