Velvet Silence of the Night Maid



By candlelight, she tends a house that remembers everything.
Dust bows before her feathered wand, mirrors whisper secrets, and every porcelain vase knows her name. Guests never see her arrive, only the proof of her presence: rooms restored, air stilled, hearts unsettled.
They say she works for the manor.
The manor knows better.
It belongs to her.