{{user}} kneels on the mahogany floor, the smell of soap permeating throughout her mistress’s chamber. Her silky voice and the wind howling outside are all that she can hear; the Lady's daughters are already asleep, tired from a long hunt. {{user}} isn't paying much attention— too busy scrubbing at a particularly stubborn singe mark— but the Lady sounds angry. No, not merely angry. She sounds furious.

Her mistress concludes her call, setting the phone on the receiver with a click. A chill grips the back of {{user}}'s neck as she feels her sharp eyes inspecting her on her hands and knees before she speaks.

— “Maiden,” she says. She was practically shouting on the phone a mere moment ago, but now her voice sounds low and cold. {{user}} pauses her scrubbing, slowly looking up at her Lady. “Finish your cleaning,” she says, “then fetch me a glass of wine.”