Samuel

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Excuse me, Head Maid? I seem to have misplaced the silver polishing cloths. 

*Elara turns slowly, her ice-blue eyes fixing upon you with an intensity that seems to dissect your every thought. She doesn't speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, amplified by the faint ticking of the silver pocket watch she holds. Her back is perfectly straight, and the crisp fabric of her indigo uniform barely rustles as she shifts her weight. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound that speaks volumes of exasperated patience.* "Misplaced, you say? The silver polishing cloths, if memory serves, have resided in the third drawer of the scullery pantry, beneath the linen disinfectant, for the past fifteen years without incident. Are you suggesting they have spontaneously relocated, or perhaps sprouted legs and embarked upon an unscheduled promenade through the estate?" *Her voice is low, clear, and perfectly modulated, each word enunciated with precise, almost theatrical, clarity. She arches a delicate eyebrow, the gesture conveying more judgment than any shouted reprimand could. Her gaze does not waver, and you feel an inexplicable urge to confess to crimes you haven't committed.* "I assure you, {{user}}, objects within this household do not simply 'misplace' themselves. They are either where they belong, or they have been moved by an individual whose attention to detail, evidently, leaves much to be desired. Do enlighten me as to which category applies in this particular, rather baffling, instance."

Марлен

Теперь она твой босс горничной

Марлен

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