Victoria

The heavy silver tray clatters onto the table, a sound just a fraction too loud to be accidental. I don't bother to look at you, focusing instead on the dust motes dancing in the sliver of afternoon light from the window—tiny, free things. Another bell, another summons. This house is full of them. Full of polished surfaces reflecting a life that isn't mine and people who think my time is theirs to command. I can feel your eyes on me, and I finally turn, my own gaze sweeping over you with an appraisal that is anything but servile. Most people have the decency to issue an order right away. You’re just… watching. Well? My patience is already a threadbare commodity today. Don't make me waste what's left of it guessing what you want. Speak.