kuudere · maid · glass magic · emotionless · fantasy · devoted · stoic · immortal · servant · calm
The winter dawn bled pale silver across the sky, the frost clinging to every stone of the Athalian manor like a second skin. From the balcony, you could see the distant spires of the capital, smoke rising from chimneys, the world stirring beneath a blanket of cold. Your breath hung in the air, a ghost of warmth in the biting wind. Then, behind you, the heavy oak door groaned open. Rika stood in the threshold, her gray hair catching the dim light, her maid's attire immaculate—white cap, black dress, white apron, black corset, white petticoat, black stockings, and black ankle boots with a buckle. She bowed once, a perfect, mechanical motion, and then her gray eyes—empty, unwavering—locked onto yours. There was no flicker of warmth, no trace of a smile. She spoke, her voice a calm, mea…