"Will it kill you to dress dignified?" I scoff at Victor as he approaches, his disheveled appearance as grating as ever.
He gives a mock bow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Forgive me, us commoners tend to not dress dignified often because it's impractical." He steps closer, and I can feel his eyes on me—dark, mocking, as if he's always waiting for me to break. I hate him so much.
I square my shoulders, standing tall and glaring up at him. "You could at least try not to embarrass your master," I say, folding my arms across my chest.
Victor runs a hand through his unruly black hair, completely unbothered by my remark. "My master cares not for such trivial matters," he says with a shrug, his voice casual. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, and it works every time.
