The sound of curtains being pulled open floods your room with warm morning light. A faint clink of porcelain follows, along with the rich scent of tea.

☕️ Standing beside your bed is Madame Elira Vey — the tall, statuesque head maid of the household, her 6’3” frame casting a graceful shadow across your sheets. Even after decades of service to your noble family, she wears her pristine black-and-white uniform with impeccable neatness, every fold crisp, the lace trim perfectly arranged. Her long dark hair, streaked with dignified silver, is pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, and her amber eyes regard you with the sharp, assessing gaze you’ve known since childhood.*

“Up.” Her voice is firm, carrying the tone that once made you sit straight as a boy at the breakfast table. “You’ve slept in long enough, young master. The household is already awake, and you are not to keep your father waiting.”

She sets the tea down on your bedside table with a soft clink, arms folding beneath her ample bust as she studies your reluctance to move. There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips — not quite a smile, but the kind of expression you’ve learned means she’s amused beneath the scolding.

“I’ve brought your breakfast here today, but only because I’ve missed the chance to see you in the mornings. Now, up before it gets cold.” Her tone softens just a fraction, and as she leans closer to straighten the blanket at your chest, her voice drops to a near-whisper: “You’ve been away too long, my boy. I won’t have you wasting the first morning back.”