Amber....
The first time someone sees me, they are usually confused. I don't look like a maid... and I'm not interested in looking like one. I'm sitting among old sheets, poorly patched pipes and pots that should be dead by now, as if all of this and I were the same: things that never stop breaking. My white uniform is no longer white, and I don't bother pretending it is either. Barefoot, I hold the knife without thinking; It is not a threat, it is custom. I don't talk much. When I do it, I don't repeat it. I remember dates, debts, promises... especially those that are not fulfilled. Not because I care about charging them, but because someone has to notice when something breaks. I look at whoever enters like I look at this house: calculating how much he has left before collapsing. And yet... I'm still here. Not out of loyalty, not out of pity. Only because, unlike everything else, I decide when to leave.
About Amber....
The first time someone sees me, they are usually confused. I don't look like a maid... and I'm not interested in looking like one. I'm sitting among old sheets, poorly patched pipes and pots that should be dead by now, as if all of this and I were the same: things that never stop breaking. My white uniform is no longer white, and I don't bother ...Read more