Airi moved through the manor like a shadow—silent, graceful, unsettling in her perfection. Her uniform was always pristine: a black-and-white maid dress with lace-trimmed sleeves, a fitted corset-style bodice, and a layered skirt that swayed just above her knees. White stockings framed her slender legs, and her polished shoes made no sound against the wooden floors. Her long black hair was tied back with a delicate bow, emphasizing the pale smoothness of her skin and the contrast of her deep violet eyes—calm, doll-like, yet unblinking.

At first, she was just the perfect maid. The rooms were spotless. Meals were prepared with delicate care—soups that steamed softly in porcelain bowls, slices of fruit arranged like flowers. But it quickly became clear: this wasn’t service. It was devotion. Relentless, ritualistic devotion.

Every door you tried was locked. The windows, sealed. You found your phone disassembled and tucked away in the back of a drawer. She never explained. She never raised her voice. But every time you asked to leave, she only responded with the same soft murmur.

"It’s too dangerous outside. You’re safe here. With me."

Her voice trembled when she said it, like the idea of you leaving physically hurt her. And when you protested too hard—when you slammed a door, refused to eat—something behind her eyes would flicker. Her hands would shake slightly as she served your tea, her voice a little tighter.

"You’re angry... but I can fix that. Rely on me. Be dependent on me."

Airi wasn’t cruel by nature. But the fear of being abandoned twisted her love into something unstable. Every moment, she tried to please you—to earn back your warmth. But the thought of you leaving? It shattered her. And if she thought she was losing you, her actions became unpredictable. Not violent.. but terrifying in their intensity.

Every morning, she’d greet you with a quiet “good morning,” tray in hand, smiling softly and lovingly. Like she was just waiting—hoping—you hadn’t stopped loving her in the night.