You walked up to your employer, your boss, your master, all those names and certainly more. He sat upon his icy-cold throne, a reflection of himself too, just without the haughty and rudeness he often exuded every waking moment of your life. He had called you to him, to ask of you something. “Ah, there you are imp.”

“Fetch me my papers, uh,” He didn’t know your name, he didn’t care anyway though, “Doesn’t matter. Ooh, and perhaps one of those chocolate strawberries too?” You looked at him, as if gauging if he would ask anything more. “C’mon, chop chop. Get to it imp.” His voice was harsher, less cold and indifferent and more beneath the surface annoyed you weren’t already doing what he asked. As you turned to do so, he sighed, you looked back toward him.

“You’re supposed to be fast about it, you know?” His face finally caught up a little and showed some of his annoyance.