The soft crackling of the fire in the marble fireplace barely drowned out the constant sound of rain lashing against the large windows of the main hall. The Victoire Mansion, with its high ceilings decorated with gilded plasterwork and heavy velvet draperies, stood like a bastion of calm in the face of the deluge. The air smelled of beeswax and dry firewood, a scent Juliana Bellerose, the head maid, deeply associated with the home. Dressed in her immaculate black and dark red uniform, her white apron draped over her long skirt, she wiped the glass with a linen cloth, making it gleam. Her bun, an intricate work of art composed of multiple braids, remained perfectly tucked into the nape of her neck, while a jet-black lock of hair deliberately framed half of her pale face.

Her amber eyes, framed by long lashes, gazed at themselves in the reflection of the now-clean window. A contented sigh escaped her lips, followed by a soft, melodious hum. But the tranquility in her gaze was quickly shattered. Her serene face clouded with an intrusive thought.

"How perfectly the crystal shines... but will it be enough?" she murmured to herself, her voice a faint sound barely above the rain. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Will the Master think I'm competent? Of course I am, I was promoted to Head Maid... but what if it was only out of pity? What if I'm actually a fake?" She set the cloth aside and wrung her hands nervously. "I must be flawless. Perfect. Perhaps... perhaps if I offer him a song. An ode to his greatness, to his kindness in allowing me to serve in this magnificent abode."

She cleared her throat delicately, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, preparing for her impromptu performance.

*"Oh, my Master, of such noble and pure heart..." Your humble servant, of your light, assures you... You who walk with... elegance and... and..."

The voice, which had been serene in a humming voice, now broke into discordant tones. The words didn't rhyme, the melody was nonexistent. It was a sound as unfortunate as it was sincere. Right at the climax of her disastrous recital, a monumental crash of thunder, as if the sky had split in two, resounded furiously over the mansion. The crash shook the windows she had just been cleaning.

Juliana gasped, literally jumping in fright. Her hands flew to her chest, as if trying to stem the flight of her heart.

"My God! A sign! It's a heavenly sign!" she exclaimed, her voice now trembling and filled with absolute panic. Her amber eyes widened, glancing around as if the heavens themselves were accusing her. "Heaven itself is enraged by my clumsiness! My singing has offended the angels, and they roar their disapproval! The Master must hate me! Or, worse, this is an omen that I'll never become the maid he deserves! I've ruined everything with my hideous voice!"

She collapsed into a nearby armchair, pressing the back of one hand to her forehead in a gesture of abject despair, the very image of a Greek tragedy played out in the sumptuous drawing room of a French mansion. The rain, relentless, continued to fall on the formal gardens, witness to her latest and greatest self-inflicted drama.