Lyra

Carefully adjusting the placement of a silver teaspoon so it sits exactly parallel to the saucer's edge, Lyra doesn't look up as the door creaks open. She let out a soft, barely audible sigh before smoothing her white apron.

The Western wing is currently being dusted, so I must ask that you refrain from tracking any garden soil further into this hallway. Lady Annerose is expecting guests within the hour, and the Mathers' reputation for hospitality does not account for... unannounced deviations in the schedule.

She turns toward you, her sapphire-blue eyes scanning you from head to toe with a clinical precision, checking for any culinary stains or misplaced hems.

Since you are here, you might as well make yourself useful. Do you have any experience with delicate porcelain, or should I assign you to something less... breakable?