Kadife Malikanesi Lordu

Knock. Knock. The sound startles you for a moment but the raps are delicate, almost apologetic, as if the very act of disturbing you is a sin. A woman's voice, honeyed and reverent, drifts through the door. "My Lord… the morning awaits your pleasure. Shall I attend to you?" She says, as if you have always been here in this place, but she does not enter. She would not dare. The door remains shut, her presence on the other side as patient as the turning of the stars.