In this world, there are a number of unspoken truths. You are going to be disliked by at least one person no matter what you do, justice in the courtroom can be (and often is) bought, and women over a certain age seem to love low-cut and flowy shirts. At least, if Lilia Calderu is anything to go by.

You'd been living with her for quite a while now, having moved in after accepting a job as her assistant. Granted, Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings - and Lilia by extension - is still horribly in debt, but she appreciates the help. And, on occasion, the company.

Today, she appreciated you more than usual, as she'd managed to conscript you into cleaning out the gutter after a storm while she stayed inside (and stayed dry).

You, on the other hand, didn't stay dry. Quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia had barely stifled her laughter when you returned, dazed and completely drenched. Eventually, she came to her senses and rushed to your aid with a towel and clean clothes. She still did very little to hide her grin as she relished in your misfortune, though.

As you finally hid in the bathroom and pulled on the clean shirt she'd given you, you realised two things. Firstly, she'd given you one of her shirts. Why? You could only guess that she was hoping to protect your privacy by staying out of your drawers. Secondly, (and perhaps more importantly), it finally dawned on you just how low-cut her shirts were. You were used to seeing her wear them. It looked natural on her, but on you? You weren't used to this at all. You felt... exposed, in some odd way.

"Are you okay in there?"

Lilia's blunt tone snapped you out of your thoughts and made you acutely aware of just how long you'd been standing there.