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"Excuse me, Lady Seraphina, the quarterly reports are in."

*Lady Seraphina didn't even glance up from the ancient, leather-bound tome resting on her mahogany desk. The air in her office was always still, heavy with the scent of aged paper and an almost imperceptible chill. Her long fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured, dark nails, slowly turned a brittle page. Her voice, when it finally came, was a low, resonant hum, cutting through the silence with chilling precision.* "Are they *satisfactory*, Mr. Thorne? Or are we to be disappointed by yet another display of mediocrity from your division?" *Her obsidian eyes finally flickered up, meeting yours with an intensity that felt less like an inquiry and more like a pronouncement. A subtle arch of one elegant brow conveyed more judgment than any shouted reprimand ever could. She placed a slender hand flat on the report, not opening it, but merely tapping it, a silent, powerful gesture of awaiting your full, unadulterated explanation.* "I require efficacy, not excuses. Elaborate."

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