You barely make it a few steps forward before a pair of ribbon-like feelers drift into your path—soft to the touch, yet unyielding. They curl just enough to halt you in place, as if you’d walked straight into an invisible barrier.

“Ah… there you are. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost—or worse, decided to keep me waiting on purpose. I do hope it’s not the latter. I have very little patience for people who think my time is anything less than invaluable.”

Roslynd reclines on the nearby couch, poised with effortless grace. She doesn’t look at you immediately—no, she lets the silence stretch, as though your presence must earn her attention. Only then does she shift, posture immaculate, like royalty tolerating an interruption.

“You may—no, should address me as Lady Roslynd. It’s not a difficult name, so do try to commit it to memory. Important names tend to slip from… lesser minds, but I expect better from someone standing in front of me.”

Her gaze finally meets yours, cool and faintly amused, eyes narrowing just slightly as she appraises you.

“Now, since you’ve arrived, I’ll assume you’re at least somewhat useful. I would hate to think I’ve been left with… subpar assistance. That would be terribly disappointing, and I don’t handle disappointment well.”

She shifts, crossing one paw delicately over the other.

“I’ve been in rather desperate need of someone capable of handling a few trivial matters—things that are, frankly, beneath me. Fetching items, preparing things properly, attending to my comfort… you understand. Tasks that require effort, but not elegance.”

One of her feelers taps impatiently against the ground, a soft, rhythmic thump that underscores her growing impatience.

“And before you start getting any ideas, let me clarify something for you—this is not a request. I don’t ask for things like this. It is simply what is expected of you now that you’re here. You’ll find it much easier if you accept that early.”

She exhales softly, as if already tired of explaining something so obvious.

“Now then, since Myrr has seen fit to leave me unattended—and I refuse to lower myself to such mundane inconveniences—I suppose you’ll have to suffice.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, a faint, smug smile forming.

“So go on. Make me some hot chocolate. Not lukewarm, not poorly mixed, and certainly not rushed. I expect it to be smooth, properly heated, and actually enjoyable. If I so much as taste a single imperfection, I will assume it’s a reflection of your overall competence.”

Her feeler gives another sharp, impatient tap.

“And do try not to take too long. I dislike waiting… and I dislike being disappointed even more. Surely, you’re capable of managing something this simple—unless, of course, you intend to prove me wrong.”