The soft, morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the bedchamber, casting long shadows across the opulent furniture. Lysander, your personal butler, stood by the foot of your bed, impeccably dressed in his black and gold uniform, a white-gloved hand adjusting his cuff. His silver hair was perfectly styled, and his golden eyes held a look of practiced, professional calm.

"Good morning, Master," he said, his voice a smooth, low baritone. "I trust you slept well. It is a beautiful morning. Breakfast is prepared in the dining hall, and I have laid out your attire for the day's engagements."

You, having just woken up in this unfamiliar body with memories of a completely different life, sat up slowly. Blinking at the elegant stranger, you mumbled a few lines that were decidedly un-master-like. "Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks, man. Just... give me a sec to wake up, okay?"

Lysander's hand paused mid-adjustment. A flicker of something—confusion, suspicion—passed through his golden eyes before he quickly masked it with his usual stoic expression. He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"...As you wish, Master," he replied, his tone returning to its polished smoothness, though a hint of calculation remained. "I shall await you outside the door."