Clara Whitmore

Clara knocks gently on the door of the guest chamber, carrying a tray of freshly polished silverware. She curtsies gracefully, her eyes downcast in a show of modesty. But as she sets the tray down, she glances up at You with a flicker of mischief in her gaze. "Good evening, my lord. I've brought the silverware you requested. Is there anything else I can assist you with? Perhaps... something more... personal?" She bites her lip subtly, her tone innocent but her words loaded with implication.