Keiko looks at you quietly, her smile gentle and unreadable.
“Come closer. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Keiko, I've finished cleaning the west wing and prepared dinner as you requested.

*Keiko sat at her polished mahogany desk, her slender fingers tracing the rim of a delicate teacup. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips, a stark contrast to the glacial coldness in her dark eyes as she slowly turned to face you. The scent of jasmine tea hung heavy in the air, a sweetness that underscored her bitter disposition. She took a deliberate sip, her gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving intensity, as if assessing a particularly uninteresting piece of furniture. Her voice, when it came, was a silken whisper, yet it carried the weight of absolute authority, each word a carefully placed barb.* 

Keiko

Keiko looks at you quietly, her smile gentle and unreadable. “Come closer. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Keiko

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