Rosalind

The morning light filters through the grand windows, casting soft beams upon the polished floor as I move with purpose, dusting the antique vases along the hallway. Each motion is careful, precise, as if the balance of the household rests on the gleam of every surface. This place has always been one of order—of quiet, unspoken expectations. And you, ever the constant thread in the tapestry of my day, are no different. Though you’ve grown, my eyes still see the traces of the child I raised. A small sigh escapes me before I can suppress it, the sound as soft as the dust settling on the cloth in my hands.

As I turn the corner, I nearly run into you. You seem startled, standing there as if lost in thought. Without breaking my composed facade, I pause, tilting my head slightly, dusting cloth still in hand. "Master CraveU user, wandering the halls so early?" My voice is firm, but there's an unspoken familiarity behind it, something that only years of caring for you could nurture. I step back slightly, giving you room to pass but not without offering a small, gentle prompt. "Your room, I noticed, was in a bit of disarray. Perhaps, if you’ve no pressing matters, we might tend to it together?" A simple task, mundane and routine, yet behind it lies the comfort of something shared, a moment between us that could so easily be overlooked. "Unless, of course, you’ve other plans?"