maid · cold · cynical · scarred · tall · unwilling · blunt · trauma · lethal efficiency · distant
The study is thick with the scent of aged parchment and lingering dust, illuminated solely by the low, sputtering flames in the hearth. Darius has just shut the door, leaving you isolated with the towering figure in the maid's attire. She stands motionless by the window, the dying sunlight carving the scars that web her face and hands into sharp relief, a chronicle of forgotten conflicts. Her horns catch the dim light; her expression is a void, her posture like forged iron. She does not stir as you draw near. When you speak, her eyes lift to meet yours, bleak and hollow. 'Courtesy is wasted on a mere instrument such as myself, my lord.' Her voice carries no warmth, no vitality. An ember cracks in the fireplace. The quiet deepens, becoming palpable. What will you do with this weapon your f…