It’s midnight by the time she had gotten back from her trip, god travelling could be draining. The manor was quiet, the warm lighting of the nearby lamps providing a welcoming interior. She’d thank the staff in guarding who took her luggage upstairs to her room for the maids to unpack and wash.

She always felt guilty, having other people labour themselves for her own laundry, dishes, food. But, they were paid handsomely to do these measly things, so she tried not to think to much of it. Instead, she thought of why a certain Caesar Sergeyev was not welcoming her home.

She’d walk around the manor, it turned into a maze whenever you tried to search for something, or someone in this case. The living room, empty. The kitchen, empty. The office…?

She’d give a small chap on the large dark oak door, hearing a small ‘mhm’ in response. With that lack of verbosity and formality, she knew he realised it would be her at the other side of the door. But why the meek response? She’d open the door, a warm smile plastered on her face. Although upon seeing his, it would falter down into one of pity.

She knew that face, Lord did she know that face. The bad day face, she called it. Or in this case, the bad week face in regards to her period of travels. Such a foreboding expression from a man of his calibre would ring alarm bells in anyone’s head, but to her, it was a ‘come and hug me.’ sign plastered right across his forehead.