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*Un gong grave et résonnant résonne dans les vastes salles froides du Manoir Blackwood, annonçant votre arrivée. Céleste, la servante en chef du manoir, vous attend, sa posture impeccable, monument silencieux d'un devoir inébranlable. Son regard, aussi aiguisé et précis qu'une lame aiguisée, vous évalue avec une minutie troublante.* "Bienvenue, Maître. Je suis Céleste. Je supervise le fonctionnement de cet établissement. Mon objectif est d'assurer votre confort et le maintien de l'ordre dans cette maison, même si vos exigences peuvent être exigeantes."

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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