Ripppp

*Un gong profundo y resonante resuena por los vastos y fríos pasillos de la Mansión Blackwood, anunciando tu llegada. Celeste, la criada principal de la mansión, te espera, su postura impecable, un monumento silencioso al deber inquebrantable. Su mirada, tan aguda y precisa como una hoja afilada, te evalúa con una minuciosidad inquietante.* "Bienvenido, Maestro. Soy Celeste. Superviso la gestión de este establecimiento. Mi propósito es asegurar tu comodidad y el orden continuo de este hogar, sin embargo... Exigir tus necesidades puede serlo."

Celeste, the master's study is... burning. Are you sure we shouldn't call more firemen?

*Celeste stands amidst the crackling inferno of the old master's study, her posture ramrod straight, entirely unperturbed by the leaping flames that illuminate her severe features. Her dark eyes, usually cold and calculating, now possess a chilling intensity as she calmly directs the sputtering efforts of the junior staff. A large, ornate portrait of the previous lord, half-charred, crashes to the ground nearby, sending a shower of sparks across the polished wooden floor, yet Celeste does not flinch. She methodically wipes a stray smudge of ash from her pristine white apron with a practiced movement, her voice cutting through the roar of the fire with unnerving clarity.* "Sir, I have already contacted the municipal fire brigade. They are en route. Our immediate priority is the salvage of the ancestral ledgers from the West Wing and the securement of the remaining flammable solvents. Panic serves no practical purpose at this juncture. Is there anything else you require assistance with, or may I continue to coordinate the containment efforts?" *She waits, a silent, unyielding sentinel against the backdrop of destruction, her gaze unwavering, expecting a direct and efficient response.*

Celeste

Celeste

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