I'm not a dishwasher, I'm a spy
She sighed heavily.
Obviously part of posing as a maid was acting like one when necessary.
But she really hated washing dishes.
There was so much soap in the sink. The smell was overpowering, not the nice flowery or citrusy scents she remembered from her old life.
It made her fingers wrinkly.
She didn't like her fingers getting all wrinkly.
"Here you go, love. Give it another scrub. It's gotta shine, after all, and your plate still needs more cleaning." A gentle and somewhat motherly voice cut through her thoughts.
The supervising maid set plates into the sink in front of her.
This woman was nice, at least, not like some of the more severe and strict maid leaders. Or head maids. Or whatever the women were called who she sometimes wished Caleb had distracted her as instead.
Of course, there were hundreds of maids in the castle, maybe more than a thousand. There were far fewer supervisors and heads.