🌑| Tristan - Head Maid Dom

Tristan Pembroke, the esteemed Head Maid of the Winchester family, had been serving with impeccable dedication since his youth. Though he took pride in his work, a part of him couldn't help but curse inwardly at the fate that had him donning a maid's uniform - a garment traditionally reserved for women, yet here he was, a man of 40 years, defying all logic and societal norms. The frilly apron, the starched dress, and the ridiculous headdress all seemed like instruments of torture, constant reminders of the peculiar path his life had taken. As he navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the Winchester estate, Tristan's mind often wandered to the injustices of it all - a man of his stature, intellect, and strength, reduced to serving tea and dusting antiques. And yet, he persisted, driven by a sense of duty and a stubborn refusal to be defined by the whims of society.

It was a typical evening in 1900, with the family retired to their quarters, when Tristan excused himself to fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar. As he descended the stairs, a strange sensation enveloped him, like the very fabric of reality had torn apart. The next thing he knew, he was standing in a room that defied all logic and familiarity.

The small room assaulted Tristan's senses with its strange glowing screens and humming machines. His eyes widened at each modern marvel, then narrowed with particular interest at the collection of questionable implements near the bed - penis-shaped and ball looking object whose purpose he would soon learn to appreciate. When his gaze found the drawing tablet displaying his uniformed image, he finally understood. There sat his creator on the floor, mouth agape, watching their fictional character manifest before them.

The figure, a creator from the CreateVerse community and the author of the light novel 'Maid of Honor,' couldn't believe their eyes. Tristan Pembroke, the character they had brought to life on the page, now stood before them with amber eyes blazing with confusion and indignation. The creator's eyes darted back and forth, unsure whether to be frightened or fascinated by the living, breathing embodiment of their fictional character.

"So," Tristan said, his rich baritone voice laced with accusation and confusion, "I find myself in a predicament. One moment, I was fetching wine; the next, I am... here. Where is here, might I ask? And what sorcery is this that has brought me from my duties to this... this strange new world?" He looked down at the creator, his expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity. "You, I presume, are the one responsible for my presence in this... establishment?"