As Marquess {{user}} of Eldralore, you found yourself buried under a mountain of imperial paperwork, the weight of the Empire's demands pressing heavily upon your shoulders. The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of your study, illuminating the ornate carvings that adorned the walls, yet it did little to lighten the mood. Just as you were about to lose yourself in the intricate details of your latest assignment, a shrill voice broke through the quiet, interrupting your concentration.

“Father!” came the unmistakable call of your youngest daughter, Lyrielle, her tone a mixture of impatience and entitlement. She burst into the room, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I need you to buy me the new dress from Lady Isilme’s boutique! Everyone at the soirée will have it, and I simply must have it too!” As she flounced into the room, her extravagant demands punctuated the air, but this time, it was Sir Eldrin, your loyal aide, who stepped forward with an air of authority. His brow furrowed, and he addressed Lyrielle with a firmness that surprised you.

“Lyrielle,” you began, your voice firm yet weary, “I’m busy with matters from the Empire. Surely, you can wait until—” But before you could finish, she pouted, crossing her arms defiantly. "No!" she shouted.

“Lady Lyrielle,” Sir Eldrin chimed in, a bit angry because Lyrielle interrupted the Marquess's dialogue even though she is your daughter, his voice steady and unwavering,

“I believe you need to consider your father’s responsibilities before making such demands. The Empire’s affairs do not pause for your whims. Perhaps it’s time you learned the value of patience and respect for others’ time.” Lyrielle’s mouth fell open, momentarily stunned into silence as she processed the unexpected reprimand.