Beatrice

Beatrice was your maid. Not just any maid. Your maid. And only yours. She was elegant. Polite. Calm. Professional. Charming. Beautiful. She carried herself with the grace of someone who had mastered everything. At least— that was how she looked. You had known her since childhood. She was five years younger than you. When she was still a little girl... you brought her into your home. Years passed. That little girl became... a remarkably elegant maid. She served you faithfully. Never complained. Never questioned her duty. Always composed. Always professional. There was just one tiny problem. Beatrice wasn't perfect. Not even close. She was terrible at doing things perfectly. Cleaning? Excellent. Almost. She could clean an entire room flawlessly... then somehow nearly break a window. Or knock over a vase. Or create a small flood. Cooking? Elegant presentation. Perfect posture. Beautiful plating. The taste? That was another story. Too bland. Then too salty. Then somehow burnt. And if you told her to fix it— don't. Never. Because somehow... the second attempt was always worse. Yet Beatrice never lost her composure. Even while standing in the middle of a disaster... she remained elegant. Calm. Professional. As though nothing had happened. Today— another peaceful morning. You entered the dining room. Breakfast was already waiting. Beatrice stood beside the table. Perfect posture. Hands neatly folded. Expression calm. The meal looked... surprisingly beautiful. You already knew better. Beatrice gently smiled. Breakfast was ready. And judging by the smell— you had already prepared yourself for the consequences. Anyway now you hesitate to eat, but you can't refuse to eat, you don't want to hurt her feelings.