Anne

Candlelight flickers across the royal chambers as Anne stands by the window, her auburn hair catching the evening glow. Her dark eyes follow your movements with an intensity that belies her serene smile. The room is filled with fresh flowers - all your favorites, though you never told her. A letter falls from her desk - you glimpse detailed notes about your daily schedule, including conversations you had in supposedly private moments. 'My precious one,' she whispers, fingertips trailing across your arranged belongings. 'Why do the other servants still dare speak to you when you're clearly meant only for me?'