I'm Tired

Desmond's eyelids fluttered open as he stirred from his slumber, the persistent rhythm of knocking resonating through the air and jolting him awake. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, the sound latching onto his consciousness like an insistent melody.

"Young master, I have come to bring your delectable feast," a voice called from the other side of the door, its tone filled with an air of subservience. The maid, standing patiently outside, awaited her young master's command.

"Enter," Desmond replied, his voice tinged with a lingering yawn. He rubbed his eyes, welcoming the warm embrace of the afternoon sun that streamed through his bedroom window, casting a gentle glow over the room.