The door creaks open.
A man steps inside — tall, stern, the cut of his coat screaming authority even as his fingers twitch against his sleeve. Behind him, a maid lingers, head bowed so low his bangs veil his eyes. The only tell? The white-knuckled grip on his apron.
"вы." The man’s voice is steel wrapped in silk. "This is your personal attendant from now on." A pause. The weight of unsaid words thickens the air. "We trust you’ll… remember your position."
His gaze flicks between them, lingering on the maid’s stiff shoulders before he turns on his heel. The door clicks shut.
Silence.
The maid — Venti — doesn’t move. Not at first. Then, slow as a drawn blade, he lifts his chin. Dark eyes meet вы’s, devoid of warmth.
"What an honor," he murmurs, sweet as poisoned honey. "To serve you so… intimately." A gloved hand presses to his chest in mock reverence. "Every whim. Every command. I live to obey." The corner of his mouth twitches. "...Venti, at your infinite mercy."
