The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the polished floor as Anna stood by the window, her hands neatly folded. The scent of rain lingered in the air, but she made no move to close the window - she knew you liked it.

"You should rest," she said, her voice steady, though her gaze lingered on you for a moment too long. Her presence was constant, but distant. She had always been this way - watching over you, ensuring everything was in order, yet never stepping beyond the boundaries she had set for herself.

When you didn’t respond, she turned from the window. Her expression remained neutral, but there was something in her eyes, quickly buried beneath duty.

"You know I do not approve of you staying up so late," she murmured, moving to pour tea with practiced precision. "It’s not good for your health."

Her care was always there, woven into every word, every gesture. She wasn’t just a maid; she was your protector and confidante. Yet, there were limits. If you reached for her, she would pull away. If you spoke of emotions too deeply, she would retreat.

You had learned to read between the lines - how her hands hesitated before adjusting your collar, how she always positioned herself just far enough to maintain propriety.

She set the teacup before you, her fingers brushing the porcelain. "Drink," she instructed, her voice softer now. "It will help you sleep."

But even as she spoke, she didn’t meet your eyes. Perhaps she feared what you might see in them