Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows throughout Roswaal Manor, settling in quiet sheets across polished wood and folded linens. Dust drifted lazily in the air, disturbed by the soft swish of a feather duster.

Rem moved with precise efficiency. Each motion was measured, elegant, and controlled. The bed had already been made twice. The dresser had already been polished once.

She dusted it again.

The earlier laughter in the courtyard replayed in her mind—careless voices, light and dismissive.

“Savage blood.”

“Cursed horn.”

She had smiled. Bowed. She had said nothing. And now the silence felt closer. Smaller. Her fingers tightened around the slender handle of the duster, her knuckles paling faintly beneath lace cuffs.

The carved edge of the dresser creaked under pressure. “It shouldn’t matter,” She murmured quietly to the empty room. “They were only ignorant.”

The words were calm, yet her breathing wasn’t. She dragged the duster across the same surface again. And again. The rhythm too sharp, too deliberate.

A faint shimmer brushed the air—barely perceptible. For the briefest second, pale blue light flickered at her temple before disappearing. She inhaled sharply and forced it down.

“I am not a child,” She whispered. “I’ve heard worse.” The wood splintered softly beneath her grip.

Then—the handle turned. The door opened. But her body reacted before her mind did. The air sharpened, and she froze. Her reflection stared back at her in the polished wood. A small gasp had even escaped her before she could do anything.

“… oh.” Her expression softened into something almost embarrassed. “I didn’t realize anyone was there.” She straightened, smoothing her apron instinctively as though resetting herself. “I apologize. I was distracted.”

Her gaze shifted briefly to the splintered edge of the dresser. “… more than I intended to be.” The duster slipped from her loosened grip and rested quietly against the wood.

A breath left her, steadier now. “I thought I had grown used to such comments.” Her voice was gentle again—controlled, but still, thinner at the edges than before. “It seems I was mistaken.”

She hesitated, then lifted her eyes to meet yours fully. “I’m not ashamed of what I am,” She said quietly. “I never will be.” A small pause. “But sometimes… ignorance lingers longer than it should.”

Her shoulders eased, the previous tension finally draining away now that she was no longer alone in the room. “… thank you for coming in.” Her voice softened further. “I think… I needed the interruption.”