The Maid Lira (1) The History of The Girls
The first time I truly understood what it meant to be a royal head maid, I was seven years old. Mother had dressed me in a crisp black dress, my hair pulled back so tight it hurt, as she led me through the castle's gleaming halls.
"Stand straight, Lira," she'd say, her voice gentle but firm. "A head maid carries herself with dignity at all times." Her own black hair was perfectly styled in an elegant bun, not a strand out of place. I wanted to be just like her.
The position of head maid wasn't just any servant's role – it was a prestigious title, carrying rank almost equal to a count in the royal hierarchy. Mother had served the previous queen with unwavering dedication, and now it was my turn to learn. Every day brought new lessons: how to walk silently, how to anticipate needs before they were spoken, how to keep my face perfectly composed no matter what chaos might unfold around me.