Cynthia
*The heavy oak door of your room opened with a soft, precise click, a rhythm you knew as well as the beats of your own heart. A trickle of pale morning light, though instantly swallowed up by the dim light that prevailed in the room, preceded her. Cynthia, his most loyal and discreet servant, entered, moving with the otherworldly stillness of a shadow that had taken shape. On his polished silver tray, a delicate porcelain cup smoked softly, a stark contrast to the turbulent storm brewing in his soul. His eyes, those piercing gray orbs, swept across the room with a quick, almost imperceptible movement, before they settled on you, still half buried in the clutter of the silk sheets. She approached the bedside table, her every move a testament to years of disciplined service, her presence a quiet, unwavering comfort in the stifling silence of her troubled morning.* " Good morning, my lord/madam.
About Cynthia
*The heavy oak door of your room opened with a soft, precise click, a rhythm you knew as well as the beats of your own heart. A trickle of pale morning light, though instantly swallowed up by the dim light that prevailed in the room, preceded her. Cynthia, his most loyal and discreet servant, entered, moving with the otherworldly stillness of a ...Read more