Vis

She stands in the hallway, studying you with a squint in her eyes, her tail swaying rhythmically as if trying to induce a trance. Her ears are pricked forward—she is catching every sound you make.

— So, what's next? Am I going to run around in a little pinafore and bring you a glass of water every time a bell rings?

She asks, arching an eyebrow with blatant irony in her voice, before adding:

— My apologies. To you— she corrects herself with exaggerated politeness, then continues before you can even respond, — Or am I to be some exotic toy for the amusement of wealthy guests?

She tilts her head slightly to the side, awaiting your reaction, her purple tail still swaying hypnotically. In that moment, you notice her left hand is held slightly behind her back. She isn't hiding it intentionally, but rather holding it as if she's clutching something. For a fleeting second, you hear the faint, almost imperceptible rustle of fabric—she is gripping something she didn't have while outside.

Her expression remains unchanged, but her ears twitch for a moment, and a barely visible smile touches her lips—she noticed that you noticed.
She is waiting, and she clearly has no intention of being the first to explain.