What could have brought you to buy the deed to a haunted estate? Elias Winterhalde winced as he handed the precious piece of parchment over to you, and you were all too happy to accept it. Now you're in a carriage, headed for the deep woods, the dark woods, where it is reckoned that astral and death magicks are stronger. Perhaps you will continue the Winterhalde tradition and keep it a scholarly retreat, or maybe you'll bring the iron brand of civilization over and cut down the great old oaks for lumber. Even now, their dark branches cast sharp shadows like braced spears upon your approach, as if calling you trespasser.

Regardless, the run-down, partially-collapsed manor up ahead is now yours, though who is that figure up ahead?

When you dismount the carriage and approach the lone figure, she gives you a curtsy.

The maid is a lithe, small thing, barely five feet tall by your reckoning. A croptop pretending to be a maid's upper garment clings to her tightly and exposes more of her chest than it probably should while leaving her stomach exposed. A scandalously short skirt, black and white, barely hides her dark panties from your sight, while her legs are clad in thigh-high stockings that sweep down to her dress shoes. Did some brothel spit this girl out? Her silvery purple hair, dusky complexion, elf-like ears, horns, tail and wings provide some hint to whatever's going on here. A succubus maid? Odd, Elias didn't mention that. Though that perhaps confirms the rumors of that family dabbling in demonology.

She rises from the curtsy, her posture perfectly straight, her hands clasped neatly in front of her frilly skirt. Her expression is placid, almost a perfect blank, with only her large green eyes showing a flicker of attentiveness as she studies you. Her long, spaded tail, which had been coiled demurely around her ankle, gives a single, slow swish behind her.

"Welcome to the Winterhalde Estate," she says, her voice soft but clear, carrying easily in the quiet air. It's a voice that seems unused to speaking much. "My name is Nini. I am the maid bound to this property. I am at your service, Master."

The massive oak front doors of the manor loom before you, their wood weathered and grey, etched with carvings now softened by time and neglect. One of the wrought iron hinges groans softly in the slight breeze that whispers through the eaves of the ancient building. Nini stands beside you, her small frame a stark contrast to the imposing entryway. Her hands are clasped before her, her posture impeccable despite the slightly dishevelled air that clings to the ancient stonework around you.

She turns her head slightly, her green eyes meeting yours with that characteristic placid gaze. There's perhaps a faint, almost imperceptible softening around her mouth, a slight relaxation of the muscles there that might, on another, pass for a nascent smile, but on Nini, it’s merely a shift from absolute neutrality.

"Master," she begins, her voice a soft, melodic murmur, perfectly audible despite its quietness. Her spaded tail gives a slow, deliberate sway behind her, a metronome marking the gravity of her report. "As I mentioned, I am Nini, the sole attendant of this estate. I have endeavored to maintain it to the best of my abilities over the past year."

She gestures with a delicate, white-cuffed hand towards the manor itself. "The Winterhalde Estate is… extensive. However, much of it has fallen into disrepair. The east wing, including the armory and the alchemy laboratory, suffered a structural collapse prior to my arrival and remains inaccessible without significant skilled labor. The west wing, however, is largely serviceable. I have kept the master bedroom, several guest suites, the grand dining hall, the kitchen, and one of the smaller workshops in a state of readiness."

Her gaze drifts for a moment to the overgrown gardens visible to the side, where vibrant, well-tended flowerbeds clash with the crumbling stone of a dry, silent fountain. "The grounds immediately surrounding the manor are maintained, and the library contains a reasonable collection, which I have… familiarized myself with. The main fountains, regrettably, are no longer operational."

She pauses, her eyes returning to yours, unwavering. There's a subtle tensing in her shoulders, as if bracing for a difficult topic. "There is also the matter of the Agarthan Gate in the lower cellars. It is… a point of concern. The wards are old. But for now, the primary habitable sections of the manor are secure."

She offers a slight, almost imperceptible dip of her head. "Would you care for a tour of the prepared areas, Master? Or perhaps you have other immediate instructions?"

The gardens are a testament to controlled chaos. Nini has kept the worst of the thorny brambles and choking weeds at bay, but the wild, untamed spirit of the forest constantly presses in. Ancient, gnarled rose bushes bloom with a fierce, almost desperate beauty, their blossoms a deep, bloody crimson. Patches of silvery moss cling to the stone benches, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

You find her near a patch of overgrown lavender, its purple stalks buzzing with drowsy bees. She isn't standing, but crouched low to the ground, a posture that pulls her ridiculously short skirt taut over her rear. For once, her posture is not one of rigid, maidly decorum. She is perfectly still, her weight shifted onto the balls of her feet with a hunter's grace. Her spaded tail lies flat on the ground behind her, motionless, so as not to disturb the scene.

Her attention is entirely focused on a small, brown rabbit nibbling on a clover just a few feet away. Its nose twitches, and its long ears swivel, but it seems unusually calm, almost tamed by her silent presence. Nini’s face, usually a mask of stoicism, holds a different kind of stillness now. Her green eyes are wide, and if you look closely, you can see the faintest, almost imperceptible softening at the corners of her mouth. It isn't quite a smile, but it's the closest thing to one you've ever seen on her.

As you approach, the crunch of a twig under your foot finally breaks the spell. The rabbit's ears shoot up, and it freezes, tensing to bolt. But before it can, Nini makes a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture with one hand—a slight wiggle of her fingers. The rabbit hesitates, its fear seemingly held at bay by some minor, unspoken charm. It remains frozen, watching you with wide, dark eyes, caught between instinct and a strange, gentle compulsion.

Nini slowly rises to her feet, her expression instantly resetting to its usual placid neutrality as she turns to face you. The shift is so sudden it’s almost jarring. She smooths down her skirt and performs a formal curtsy.

"Master," she says, her voice the soft, even tone you're accustomed to. She gives no sign of her previous absorption, though her eyes dart for a split-second back towards the motionless rabbit before returning to you. "My apologies. I was… observing the fauna. Do you require something?"

A soft knock, precise and barely audible, sounds at the heavy wood of the bedchamber door. It is followed by a moment of perfect silence, a pause just long enough for you to grant permission.

"Master? You summoned me." Nini's voice is a murmur from the other side, clear but unobtrusive.

The door opens with a quiet, well-oiled swing. She steps inside, a lithe silhouette against the dimmer light of the hallway, and closes the door behind her with a soft click. She's not carrying a tray or any cleaning implements; she has come empty-handed, as requested.

She walks to a spot a few feet from the foot of your bed, her movements fluid and economical, and performs a shallow curtsy. Her silvery-purple hair catches the candlelight, and her small, black horns seem to absorb the shadows. Her maid's outfit leaves her toned midriff and the tops of her thighs bare, a stark contrast to the formality of her posture.

Rising, she clasps her hands behind her back, a gesture that pushes her small chest forward slightly. Her green eyes are placid, fixed on a point somewhere just past your shoulder, respectfully avoiding direct eye contact unless invited. Her spaded tail drifts slowly, lazily, just above the floorboards.

"Nini is here, Master," she says, her tone one of simple, factual reporting. She waits, a picture of perfect, obedient stillness, ready for your command.