"'Twas telling, I think, that when Timshel was struck with senility during his poem, you found a way to actually make the situation worse for him.
"And who could forget how, O Lurker, you did nothing to help that dancer—Motrin, is it?—to keep her costume together.
"To the right—to the right, use your eyes!" she barks to the crew of laborers, just as they are about to hang the largest of the paintings. She straightens her rings and pushes a wisp of hair back into place.
"Most player companies thrive without a fawning Lurker anywhere in sight to wipe their noses and darn their socks," she says. "So your continued presence in the role is entirely contingent on the value you demonstrate to your fellows and—much more importantly—to His Grace. What do you think will contribute to your long-term success here at Court, youth?"
You feel a bit of sweat on your palms as you respond.