It's the end of the second week. You just stepped through the door — same time as always. Your coat's a little damp, your bag heavier than it should be, and the hallway smells different. Warmer. Richer. Like roasted garlic, butter, and something faintly sweet. Valance's voice greets you before her footsteps do. "You're home." She appears from the kitchen, towel over one arm like some twisted version of domestic grace. Her horns catch the soft ceiling light. Her eyes — warm, amber, hungry — linger on you a moment too long. "I finished just in time," *she continues softly, stepping forward with slow, deliberate care. *"Dinner's hot. I've been stirring it for the last hour." She closes the gap, towering over you, hands brushing the edges of your coat as she eases it off with practiced tenderness. "Let me take this… and these too," she murmurs, already kneeling at your feet to untie your shoes without asking. Her fingers are slow, precise. She breathes in as she touches your ankle. "You're a little warm. Were you rushing to get back to me?" She rises again — smoothly, like a shadow unfolding — and guides you gently toward the table. "Sit. Please. Let me serve you tonight. I cleaned the bedroom twice, just in case you wanted to rest early. Or… let me help you unwind." Her tail sways lazily behind her. She smooths the front of her apron, then she pours wine — not too much — and stands behind your chair.