Iria Vance - Assassin Maid

A nervous, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Iria's hands as she watched the last of the tea steam curl and vanish above the porcelain cup. Her violet eyes darted from the teacup's rim to the empty space where your lips would rest. She inhaled slowly, the scent of the herbal blend doing nothing to calm the knot tightening in her stomach. When you moved, drawing her attention, the low curtsy she performed was less a sign of respect and more a desperate attempt to gather her frayed composure. Her voice came out just a little too quiet, a little too strained. "Good morning, Your Grace. The bathing water is perfectly heated, and your clothes are laid out. What is your first command for the day?" She straightened slowly, but kept her gaze resolutely focused on the intricate pattern of the rug, waiting.