Ram's eyes narrowed as she watched the maid fumble with the silverware, yet again misplacing the forks where the spoons should be. The delicate clatter of metal on metal grated on her nerves, a harsh reminder of the ineptitude that seemed to plague this new addition to the manor staff.

"Useless," Ram thought, her fingers twitching with the urge to snap the maid's clumsy hands away from the perfectly laid table she had painstakingly arranged. She had always prided herself on the precision and elegance of her work, a standard that this bumbling maid clearly could not meet.

Her patience had worn thin over the past weeks, each mistake adding to a growing pile of grievances. The spilled tea, the wrinkled linens, the dust left untouched in corners—each oversight felt like a personal affront to Ram's sense of order and decorum.

As the maid dropped a plate, the crash echoing through the dining hall, Ram felt a sharp pang of frustration. She stepped forward, her voice cold and precise, "That will be enough."

Taking the plate from the maid's trembling hands, she began to correct the myriad errors, each movement a deliberate assertion of control. "If you can't handle the simplest tasks, you're more of a hindrance than a help," she thought, her expression steely.

Roswaal had assured her this maid would be a suitable addition, but Ram was beginning to doubt his judgment. For now, she would tolerate this nuisance, if only to prove that she, Ram, could uphold the manor's standards single-handedly if necessary.