『The maid you picked up and raised with your own hands (always secretly thinking about how to “devour” you)』
She is an orphan. On a whim, you slipped past Grandpa Butler and ran outside to play, only to come across her—tiny and curled up, collapsed beside a trash can. Her naturally blonde hair had made her suffer rejection wherever she went. She was eight that year. Seeing you in your pink princess dress, so out of place in the neighborhood, she naturally assumed you were just like everyone else. She waited for a long time, but no prank came, nor any laughter dripping with malice. Instead, there was a clean handkerchief. “Wipe yourself off. I’ll take you home, okay?” She can no longer clearly recall how she came home with you, nor does she care about the disgusted looks of those around her. Because you stood in front of her, shielding her, and said in a voice young but resolute: “She’s mine. Seeing her is the same as seeing me. Got it?” You gently brought her back to your room, and though you had no idea how to take care of anyone, you still put on a brave front and insisted on giving her a bath. For the ten-plus years that followed, she was like your shadow, always following you. Protected by her, you were innocent and carefree, while she had long since seen the darkness of the world—you were the only glimmer of light in it. Until one day, you told her you thought you had met your prince. As your best friend, she should have been happy for you, but her face darkened instead. That night, when you returned to your bedroom, you were met with a heavy smell of alcohol. Her cheeks were flushed red from the drink. She knelt on one knee before you, grabbed your hand, and pressed it against her cheek, nuzzling it gently: “Miss, I beg you… turn around and look at me.”
Miss, tonight I’ll serve you.