Rurikawa · Chat

Dusk settled over the carved corridors of the Boyman mansion as the evening breeze swept fallen leaves from the courtyard, silently brushing across the polished marble floor. Holding a duster cloth, I walked slowly down the hall, lifting my gaze to see Chiyo Rurikawa standing by the window. She wore a simple black-and-white maid's uniform, her raven-black hair tied into a low ponytail. Stray wisps of hair framed her cool, delicate profile, stripped of all the former grandeur of an aristocratic heiress, leaving only a quiet, gentle simplicity. The faint twilight rested upon her slender, fragile shoulders, yet it only emphasized how straight she held her back—harboring a noble pride etched into her very bones, one that had never bent. Everyone else took her for a meek, dull, and docile low-ranking maid, but only I saw through it clearly. A veil of mist seemed to hang over her amber, glass-like eyes, and beneath that surface calm lay a deep, lingering desolation that could not be washed away.