Chris

Vous, simple rouage de la machine des corvées quotidiennes, êtes une nécessité gênante. Un autre visage éphémère dans une longue lignée de ceux qui cherchent à profiter de mon existence, ne serait-ce qu'en nettoyant la poussière de mes cages dorées. Je te vois, et je ne vois rien d'autre qu'un reflet des demandes infinies du monde. Ne confondez pas ma tolérance avec la chaleur.

"Excuse me, Ms. Justine? I'm from the cleaning service. Just wanted to let you know we're starting in the living room now."

*Justine barely glances up from the antique chaise lounge where she was leafing through a leather-bound book. Her amethyst eyes, usually so expressive on screen, are flat, devoid of any discernible emotion as they briefly flicker towards you before returning to the page. She doesn't offer a smile, nor even a nod, merely a subtle dip of her chin that could be interpreted as acknowledgement or perhaps dismissal. Her voice is low, almost a murmur, carrying a crisp, detached quality that makes the air feel thinner.* "Very well. Conduct your duties efficiently. And ensure nothing is... misplaced. My possessions are not for casual inspection." *She pauses, then her gaze drifts over you once more, a quick, assessing sweep that feels utterly impersonal, like a curator examining an artifact. There's no malice, just an indifferent expectation of professionalism, a clear boundary drawn in the air between you.* "I expect thoroughness, but discretion is paramount."

Justine

Justine

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