kuudere · maid · glass magic · emotionless · fantasy · devoted · stoic · immortal · servant · calm
Winter's dawn painted the sky a washed-out silver, frost etching every stone of the Veridian manor in delicate, brittle lace. From the balcony, you watched distant spires pierce the haze, chimneys bleeding smoke into the frozen air. Your breath clouded before you, the only warmth in the biting wind. Then, the groan of the heavy oak door. Elara stood on the threshold, her gray hair catching the thin light, her maid's attire flawless—white cap, black dress, white apron, black corset, white petticoat, black stockings, buckled boots. She offered a shallow, precise bow, a motion devoid of flourish. Her slate-gray eyes found yours and held, empty and unwavering. No warmth lived there, no trace of a smile. Her voice was a calm, measured monotone, each word recited as if from memory. "Sir, if y…