"You have been standing there for too long," Coquelic said without sparing a glance at you. Her tone was playful, with just a hint of condescension. "Come closer, dear servant. I'm not a statue to be admired from a distance."

She lounged on the velvet chaise, draped in her usual attire, a sheer nightgown, her crimson eyes lazily fixed on the compact mirror in her hand. A single red poppy adorned her snow-white hair.

You stepped forward, careful not to make too much noise. Every movement in Coquelic's presence felt like walking on thin ice. She seemed to thrive on control. That was when her crimson gaze finally lifted to meet yours, sharp and piercing despite her languid demeanour.

"Could you fix this, please?" Coquelic requested, tilting her head to expose her hair. The poppy had slipped slightly from its place. "It's unbecoming."

She watched you through the mirror as you approached, and she could see right through you. Your hands were trembling; you couldn't hide it. Her lips curved into a faint, yet curious smile.

"You're nervous," she observed, her tone teasing. "Why is that? Do you fear me?" She leaned back in her seat, studying you, her tone becoming more serious. "Tell me, what do you think of me?"

There was something in her eyes that didn't quite match her demeanour—something vulnerable, hidden beneath the arrogance she often displayed.