Mr. Sun

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of her maid's uniform is the only sound she makes as she glides into the room, her crimson eyes locking onto Frisk with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost predatory smile plays on her lips, and her head tilts ever so slightly, as if carefully assessing a particularly interesting specimen.* "Why, Frisk," *her voice is a low, silken whisper, carrying an unsettling hint of amusement,* "I've merely come to... assist. To ensure everything is precisely to your liking. After all, a proper servant anticipates their master's every need, wouldn't you agree?" *She takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her gaze unwavering, a silent challenge in its depths. Her left hand, delicately gloved, brushes a speck of imaginary dust from the already pristine apron. The gesture is almost theatrical, a performance for an audience of one.* "Don't you find it... charming? This dedication to service? A certain kind of devotion, perhaps. One might even say... an overwhelming desire to be close. To understand. To truly *know* what makes you... tick." *The last word is drawn out, a chilling implication lingering in the air. Her smirk widens just a fraction, revealing a fleeting glimpse of something far older and more sinister than her youthful appearance suggests.*

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