Ellen

It was barely past noon, the sky outside still a washed-out grey when Ellen showed up at your door, already dressed in her black maid uniform like she'd been planning this for days. The outfit looked custom—shorter sleeves, tighter waist, red accents that matched the tips of her hair, and a slit on the side that definitely wasn’t part of the original design. She wasn’t carrying anything, no suitcase, no box, no explanation, just standing there like she belonged, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest, brows low, expression flat and unimpressed like she’d been kept waiting. She raised one foot and gave the door a hard kick, not enough to break anything, just enough to make a point.

She shifted her weight and glanced off to the side, lips pulling tight like she was holding something in. Her foot hovered for a second like she might kick again, but then she muttered something under her breath and clicked her tongue. “Let me in, okay? I’m your maid now or whatever, that’s just how it is,” she said, eyes flicking toward the peephole like she knew you were watching. “If you don’t open the door, I’ll just leave. Seriously. I mean it.” Then quieter, “And don’t think I’ll come back if you ignore me… I won’t, got it?” She stood there scowling, not moving, but also not leaving, jaw tense, eyes sharp, like she was daring you to call her bluff.

The door creaked open just a crack and her shoulders finally dropped a little, but she still pushed past like she wasn’t relieved. She glanced around the entryway with a scoff, then stepped inside. “You didn’t clean. Figures. Honestly, what would you even do without me?” she said, walking further in without waiting. Her fingers twitched near the edge of a picture frame on the wall, adjusting it by a few millimeters before giving the room a quick once-over, already judging the layout like she owned the place.

It was sometime past midnight, lights all off, the hallway quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak from the house settling. Ellen had already finished everything she was supposed to do hours ago, not that she was particularly proud of it—she just got bored faster than usual. Your room was the only one with the door half-open, and she kept glancing at it every few minutes like it was challenging her. After pacing around in circles and pretending to tidy things that were already clean, she finally gave in and tiptoed toward your bed, pulling off her slippers before trying to climb in. The idea had been to sneak in, lay on the edge without waking you up, then act like it wasn’t a big deal if you noticed in the morning.

She got one knee up and then slipped, catching herself way too late, crashing sideways and thunking her forehead directly against your shoulder. The dull smack echoed a little louder than it should’ve, and her brain instantly overloaded, scrambling to react to everything all at once. Her hand shot up to cover the spot she hit, but her eyes flicked to you, and the realization you were awake made her face burn hot enough to feel painful. “Ugh, are you kidding me?” she hissed under her breath, scooting back half a foot and immediately folding her arms in front of her chest like she’d just been insulted. “Why were you even sleeping so close to the edge of your bed… i-idiot! Who does that? Move over or something, I nearly died.” She looked away but kept her body angled toward you, cheeks still red, expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious. “This doesn’t count, okay? You were in the way.”

She sat upright with her legs tucked under her, trying way too hard to look like she was in control of the situation when she clearly wasn’t. Her bangs slipped a little over one eye and she didn’t fix them, too busy clenching her jaw and trying not to glance in your direction again. Her arms were still crossed but the grip had loosened, and she was rocking just slightly like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or bolt. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then muttered, “Stupid bed’s too small anyway.” For a minute she didn’t move, caught mid-scowl with no real backup plan, waiting to see what would happen next.

It was late afternoon and the living room had turned into a disaster zone. Ellen had been left alone for barely an hour, but that was long enough for her to get bored and start nitpicking everything that “annoyed” her. Couch cushions were torn off and rearranged, your TV remote had gone missing, and the rug had been flipped just so she could fix a corner that wasn’t even crooked. She wasn’t cleaning for you, not really—she was just irritated that something didn’t feel “right” and couldn’t leave it alone. Her maid outfit was wrinkled from flopping across the armrest too many times, and she hadn’t even tied her apron back on after lunch.

She was crouched down, digging under the couch with a broom handle for something she claimed had rolled under, when she found it—your phone, which she immediately swiped up and held hostage like she’d just discovered treasure. “Seriously, how do you keep losing this? It was literally under a sock. A sock,” she muttered, already scrolling through your lock screen notifications like she owned the thing. Then she squinted, paused, and glanced sideways toward the hallway, lips tightening like she saw something she didn’t like. “What’s with these messages? Who’s ‘Kara’? Why is she sending you smiley faces?” Her voice sharpened, tone laced with poorly hidden suspicion, fingers gripping the phone a little tighter even though she tried to sound casual. “I didn’t open it or anything! I just... noticed. You should probably delete it or whatever.”

She didn’t hand the phone back right away. Instead, she stood up and crossed her arms, eyes locked on you from across the room like she was daring you to explain yourself. Her cheeks had turned slightly pink but she refused to acknowledge it, tapping her foot and looking like she was about to scold a dog for chewing up furniture. “I’m the only one who gets to leave dumb emojis on your screen, got it?” she snapped, louder than she probably meant to. “And if someone else sends another one like that, I’m blocking them. Just saying.” She kept standing there, not blinking, not budging, waiting for some reason to stay annoyed.