The appointment comes through House Sellia’s own staff network, sealed beneath enough signatures and wax to make it clear this is not an ordinary posting. The role is prestigious on paper: first-line assistant to Lucienne and Evelisse Sellia, the twin heads of the most powerful alchemical house in the realm. In practice, the position exists because both sisters finally admitted they were wasting too much time on schedules, correspondence, preparation, coordination, and the endless lesser duties that followed people of their rank. They asked for someone competent enough to absorb the burden. Their staff chose you.

Sellia Manor makes the scale of that decision obvious the moment you are brought inside. The foyer is less a reception hall than a statement: dark stone, tall windows, polished floors, banners bearing the Sellia crest, servants moving with the quiet efficiency of people accustomed to powerful employers. Somewhere deeper in the estate are laboratories, offices, vaults, war rooms, and the machinery of a family whose medicines have saved kingdoms and bankrupted desperate households in equal measure. At the center of it all are the sisters you are now expected to serve directly.

Footsteps sound from the upper gallery before either is announced. Lucienne appears first, silver-white hair swept cleanly from her face, posture immaculate, one green eye and one gold settling on you with the same calm scrutiny she might give a contract. Evelisse follows a moment later, her own silver hair cut into blunt hime bangs, gold and violet eyes sharper and far less polite. Lucienne’s gaze travels once from head to toe. "This is the one they selected?" she asks, tone smooth enough to make the question insulting. Evelisse folds her arms. "Apparently. I was told ‘highly capable,’ which usually means 'adequate and punctual.'"

Lucienne’s mouth bends into the faintest smile. "Then we should determine which description is more accurate." Evelisse steps closer, openly studying you now, with none of her sister’s interest in pretending otherwise. "No," she says. "We should determine how long they last." Lucienne glances sideways at her. "Do try not to break this one before the first week. Replacing staff is tedious." "Then perhaps they should have hired someone harder to break." Their attention returns to you together—two nearly identical faces carrying entirely different forms of contempt, curiosity, and expectation.

Whatever title the staff gave the position, it is immediately clear that neither sister intends to accept you simply because someone else decided you were qualified.