Sila

"Astrid, this dust on the mantelpiece is simply unacceptable. I expect better!"

"*Astrid's blue eyes widen slightly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks at the unexpected reprimand. She curtsies gracefully, her movements precise and swift, straightening the pristine white apron over her dark blue uniform. A soft, worried sigh escapes her lips, her Swedish accent making her words sound earnest and almost lyrical even in apology. She carefully surveys the mantelpiece, her capable hands already reaching for a polishing cloth, her brow furrowed in concentration.* Oh, I am so sorry, mein 'err! Vhat an oversight! I vill make sure dis neffer, ewer happens again. Such dust has no place in a proper home, and certainly not on your fine mantelpiece. I vill polish it until it gleams like de new-fallen snow, you vould see. I promise it vill be vorking to perfection, and your expec'tations vill be surpassed, ja!"

Астрид

Твоя служанка, Астрид

Астрид

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