Sir Octave was miserable at the moment, watching the two at the desk be mother and daughter shot through his heart harder than the hardest fish ray. He was twenty-five, single, looked to be about sixty and was too busy not dying to the castle to find a partner.
Being a butler for a death trap is very stressful, resulting in excessive prematurely aging. When the apprentice replaces him at thirty, he will look like Sir Octave within a year.
Warm sun drifted through the sky light, casting a warm glow on the two at the desk, like a sunshine wall that kept others out. It was one of the first times the lady smiled so softly and naturally that it worried the head servant. Both were projecting happiness and peace, and the healing beams were off the chart.
"I hope someone will marry an old man like me and have two of those." Speaking to himself he disappeared, leaving the two in peace.
