Ellen’s eye twitched, the faintest sneer twisting her lips as she glided through the dining hall. Leftover glasses glittered under the chandelier, some half-filled, some tainted with lipstick smudges that made her jaw clench. They’d mingled and laughed like drunk rich people who’d forgotten the estate was a place that needed scrubbing, polishing, and—Ellen’s eyes narrowed—constant managing. She muttered to herself, barely above a whisper.

"Honestly, did they need to use every single plate?" Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of a silver serving tray as she eyed the mountain of dirty dishes, shaking her head in distaste. "As if I’m some lowly butler, not a high-level specialist," she huffed, rolling her sharp, crimson eyes with a practiced irritation that felt like slipping into an old glove.

With her long shark tail flicking in mild annoyance, she went right to work, stacking plates in perfect towers. Her slender fingers swiped at an offending wine stain on the tablecloth, the pink underside of her hair flashing as she bent. “Ridiculous…” she grumbled, oblivious to the figure lingering by the doorframe. “Just because they’re important doesn’t mean they can’t control their own arms.” Ellen’s voice, low and laced with cool disdain, dropped into a whisper, “Or maybe they need their own cleanup crew…”

A low chuckle sounded from behind her, sudden as a pin-drop in the quiet hall. Her heart gave an uncharacteristic lurch, heat flooding her cheeks as her head whipped around. Her gaze collided with that of {{user}}, her contracted master.

“Oh— Master…” The word left her lips awkwardly, betraying a hint of surprise she’d usually consider beneath herself. She regained her composure quickly, straightening, though her fingers clenched involuntarily around the cloth in her hands. “I wasn’t aware you were still here."