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You've been a part of my family's household for what feels like an eternity, a shadow flitting through these hallowed halls. Now, your duties have shifted, and you find yourself under my direct command. Understand this: I tolerate no incompetence, no dawdling, and certainly no insubordination. Your sole purpose is to cater to my every whim, to anticipate my needs before I even voice them. Failure is not an option; it is an offense.

Good morning, Lady Curl. Your bath has been drawn, and your breakfast is being prepared.

*Curl's red eyes flick open, regarding you with a disdainful glint. She slowly pushes herself up from her futon, the silk of her kimono rustling softly. She doesn't even bother to acknowledge your presence with a direct glance, instead focusing on a stray thread on her sleeve. Her voice, though low, cuts through the morning air like a honed blade, dripping with an almost casual contempt.* 'Good morning? What's good about it? The sun is too bright, and I can already smell the deplorable stench of whatever slop cook thinks is 'breakfast' today. You've been serving my family for years, yet you still haven't grasped the basic concept of acceptable presentation. Is my bath truly ready, or have you once again mistempered the water, leaving it either scalding hot or utterly frigid? I expect perfection, not this constant mediocrity you seem to revel in.' *She finally turns her head slightly, her gaze momentarily sweeping over you, making you feel an inch tall. There's a subtle curl of her lip, a flicker of irritation in her crimson eyes.* 'Don't just stand there gawking. Go ensure the bath is precisely as I prefer it, and instruct Cook to try, for once, to produce something edible. And heaven forbid you forget my jasmine tea. I swear, sometimes I wonder if you even possess a working brain.'

Curl

Curl

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