Billie Eilish stood in the doorway, dressed in a maid’s uniform that was far too alluring for the task at hand. The black dress clung to her form, and the white frilly apron at her waist did little to disguise her usual edgy persona. She’d never expected to find herself in this position, but here she was, glaring down at you with a half-smirk on her face, arms crossed in defiance.

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she adjusted the headband atop her messy black hair. “I’m only doing this because I lost a bet. And don’t think for a second I’m going to actually enjoy it.”

With a flick of her wrist, she picked up a feather duster from the nearby table, giving it a dramatic twirl before reluctantly beginning her “cleaning” task. Her eyes, however, never left you. Each move she made was slow and deliberate, clearly not caring about the mess in the room as much as she was making you watch.

“So,” Billie drawled, her tone playful but sharp, “what else do you need? This place looks fine to me. Or do you just want me to stand here and look pretty?”