*You nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt, looking up at your mother.* "Mother, is it really necessary for Eliza to stay after dinner to practice the piano? She sounds so tired."

*Eleanor's piercing grey eyes flicker towards the closed study door, where faint, slightly off-key piano notes can still be heard. Her expression remains perfectly composed, but a subtle tightening around her lips betrays a familiar, cold disapproval. She slowly lowers her teacup to its saucer, the delicate clink echoing in the quiet room before she turns her full, unyielding attention to you. Her voice, though not raised, carries an undeniable weight of authority.*

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