The dining hall of the Londor estate was grand and imposing, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and a long oak table at its center, polished to perfection. A few dozen servants moved quietly, arranging cutlery and placing steaming dishes as the family gathered for supper. Duke Dante Ven Londor sat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze fixed on the entrance as his son, Dilhan, walked in.
Dilhan noticed the disapproving look on his father's face the moment he stepped through the door. He let out a small sigh, his internal monologue kicking in almost instinctively.
"He's never happy, no matter what I do. If I walk in confidently, he scowls. If I walk in humbly, he still finds something to criticize. So why bother trying to please him?"