Emma gasped and jerked awake, eyes staring around the room wildly. Muted gray light streamed reluctantly through the partially closed curtains, playing across the elaborate carpets and furniture. The posts on the bed she lay in spiraled toward the ornate ceiling and the paintings stared down at her from the walls. She was in her room at Edgemoor. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing was ragged and strained, the dream she’d had the previous night gradually fading, but still seeming no less real.

She ran her hand over her face and leaned over, clasping her hands between her knees, and trying to calm her thrumming heart. What did any of it mean? She asked herself, eyes closed. That person was the same as the one who’d started this whole thing. The voice in her mind. The one who called her “Neptis.” But what was she trying to say?

Her mother had been a firm believer in dreams. She’d always told Emma that dreams were something your subconscious was trying to tell you and, with no way to form the idea while you were awake, it chose to communicate with you while you were asleep and the rational walls your mind built were weakened. Emma found that, by and large, her dreams were formless and nonsensical, she’d also learned not to ignore them.

It meant something. There was a truth hidden there, but she had no idea what that truth might be. It had obviously been a warning, but what had “find the heart in the heart” meant? Had what Emma seen happened in the past? Had it never happened at all except in her dream?

“Miss Emma?” A voice called through the door with a gentle knock on the heavy wood portal.

“I-I’m here!” Emma called weakly, wiping the sweat from her face.

“Would it be acceptable if I came in?” The voice asked.

“Sure,” Emma replied, rubbing the palms of her hands over her eyes.

“Many thanks,” the voice replied, and the door pushed open. A girl of indeterminate age stepped inside. She wore a maid outfit at least one size too large for her petite frame which gave the impression of a child wearing their parents’ clothes. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a rather severe bun and her large, blue eyes seemed to take in everything at once. The girl bowed at the waist upon seeing Emma, her pointed ears piercing through the hair denoting her plainly as an elf.

“Hello,” Emma said curiously as the elf closed the door behind her.

“A very good morning to you, Mistress,” the elf remained where she was for a moment longer before straightening.

“Mistress?” Emma glanced around nervously, as if someone was about to leap from the shadows before returning her gaze to the elf. Emma noticed that, even at full attention she was no taller than a young girl, perhaps almost a foot shorter than her, and Emma certainly wasn’t tall by any measure.

The girl’s skin was smooth and clear with minimal makeup with only a light blush of soft pink on her lips. Except for her eyes, which were slightly larger than a human’s and bespoke of a myriad experiences Emma couldn’t even imagine, she could easily be mistaken for a child. “My name is Lyriel Elhana, and I’ll be your lady in waiting from here forward.”

“My what?” Emma blinked at the girl blankly.

“Your personal servant,” the elf replied, bustling around the room, straightening objects, and running her finger critically over the vanity table by the window. Whatever she found obviously displeased her and she shook her head ruefully. “Sloppy. So very sloppy.”

“Oh!” Emma waved her hands and blushed in embarrassment. “There’s no need for a servant! I’m not important enough for something like that!”

“May I ask a deep favor, my lady?” Lyriel came near, standing in front of Emma, hands folded pleasantly at her waist.

“My lady?” Emma murmured. “I really think you have me confused for someone else but…um, I…I guess?”

“May I be honest, my lady?” Lyriel asked, large eyes finally rising to meet Emma’s own.

“Is that the f-favor?”

“It is,” Lyriel replied with a curt nod.

“O-Ok, sure,” Emma nodded. The elf sighed deeply, eyes closed, before intently fixing her sapphire globes on Emma’s face.

“I’ve been here for 30 years,” Lyriel said, her high, soft voice betraying a hint of indignation. “I’ve been cleaning the same floors and washing the same walls for longer than Empress Celeste or, I’d wager, you have been alive.

“I’ve been passed over time and time again for promotion. There have been 12 head maids in 30 years. Not once have I been one of them. They’ve chosen 6 ladies in waiting for various nobles from Edgemoor. Not one was me. Racism? Probably. Spite? Definitely.

“Gradually the court stopped visiting Edgemoor as often. Once every year or two has become the norm. There were 15 maids here 4 years ago. There are three, now. Once of which, obviously, is me. It won’t be long before Edgemoor is all but abandoned and I’ll be shipped off somewhere else. Some other manor or castle for me to get tossed onto the bottom rung and left out to dry.” The elf’s eyes blazed with indignation and determination and her small hands clenched into fists.

“I don’t know who you are,” Lyriel fixed Emma with a smoldering gaze. “Honestly, I don’t care. I just know they have an entire Hunter Group here to protect you. One of the best, too. Excuse my brashness, but you are my ticket out of wiping the dust from the painting of Empress Drusilla for the 150,000^th time and I think we can help each other.”

“I-I see,” Emma mumbled, not really seeing at all. “Y-You’ve wiped the portrait that many times?”

“An exaggeration, but not much of one, and not important to what I’m saying. The long and short of things is you need an executive maid since you’re, obviously, quite important. Someone to do chores, clean your royal self, someone to confide in, and someone who can help protect you in a pinch,” Lyriel insisted.

“B-But I’m not a royal anything!” Emma insisted. “I’m just a street rat!”

“Street rat? Who cares?” Lyriel shrugged. “Even if you’re not royalty, you still need someone to wash your ass, right?”

“My a-ass?” Emma shrunk back slightly. “Do nobles really have people that do that for them?”

“Quite. It doesn’t matter,” Lyriel waved Emma’s horrified question away breezily. “Look, you’re a nobody and I’m just a lowly elf servant. There’s nothing which says we can’t be greater than our station, right? Especially if we stick together! I’m an excellent listener. I’m a scholar. A very capable maid and a great masseuse. Not to mention I can make things!”

“Things?” Emma asked, swept along in a conversation she couldn’t completely follow. The mask of propriety quickly vanished from the elven girl’s face and her eyes became wild and excited, burning with a ferocious passion.

“I’m an artificer! I make things!” She fished in the pockets on the front of her apron and quickly produced two small purple globes.

“…grapes?” Emma stared at them intently for a moment having never seen an actual grape in person. She reached a finger out curiously, poking one hesitantly with her finger.

“They’re smoke bombs!” Lyriel exclaimed proudly.

“B-Bombs?” Emma jerked her finger back quickly in alarm.

“Yeah! If you’re ever in a pinch and you need to scupper off, throw one of these and the whole area becomes an oily fog bank! I’ve got lots of other stuff I can make, too! Magic stuff, weapons, armor, toys, automatons, you name it, I can build it!”

“That sounds quite handy,” Emma said obligingly. The little elf puffed her chest out proudly.

“Oh! It is! I assure you! Sooo? What do you think?” Lyriel put her hands on her hips proudly. “Useful, right? Handy, yes?”

“I-Indeed!” Emma stammered, not sure what else to say. “I j-just don’t think someone like me needs a…um…a personal m-maid is all. There are so many nobles and ladies and stuff out there. I really am a nobody, I promise!”

“Shit,” Lyriel sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “I didn’t want to have to sink this low.” Lyriel reached up to her shoulders and undid the straps on her dress, letting the garment drop to her waist, exposing her breasts. Emma stared at the petite globes with their puffy strawberry peaks in no small amount of surprise.