January 1st, 1900
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Sitting silently at his desk, John read through the new deal that was drafted by the Advisor of Economy. [i]It is crucial that the King read this[/i], she said, before the conversation cut short by one of her tax collectors. It seems like another riot had just broke out, John thinks as his fingers run along his hair, trying to pressing down a strand of hair back into shape. But no matter what, the resilient hair shows no sign of cooperation and continue to stand proud in the light of dawn. And he does not like it. 

Just then, a soft knock coming from the other side of the wooden door, followed by a deep masculine voice, “My liege, Prince Henry William asked to see your presence at his summer castle tonight.” And then, the voice stopped, waiting for the owner of this palace to give his words about the matter. Although it is quite urgent as these form of messages should have been given notice a month or two prior the events taken place, the Second Prince would not likely to attend. 

Controlling his breath so that it would not echo in this silent hallway, the servant fixed his posture before trying to “reminisce” about his master, the lord of this place, and the representatives of the people. During the past decade, Master John had never left his room. The time that he could see his master face under the light of dawn is as much as the number of fingers on his right hand. And although he never like to say it or having other to notice it., it is six and not five. Six chubby little fingers place side by side. He could move it with ease and possible to live by himself fine. But, for the sake of being able to a part of this society, the servant had to hide his sixth in. [i]Only the master knows it,[/i] the servants thinks before placing his right hand into the glove. The pinky becomes a little bigger but that is all. [i] Thanks god that he is the only one that know[/i].

“Would other be there?” The voice coming from the other side, with something smashed against the floor. Despite the temptation of peeking through the keyhole to see what is happening inside continue to rise, the servant’s posture remained concreted. Head held high. Hand behind his back. Straight spine and chest filled with pride for the ability to serve. The servant did well to resist his temptation of disobeying his master’s order. 

“Yes, sir. Princess Margaret Vaughan von William, owner of the Purple Palace; Princess Lucy Vaughan von William, the Lady of the Grand Library;...” Just then, the voice is cut short by his master grumble that echoed from the other side. 

“Fine, fine. Tell others servants to prepare my wardrobe. Heat up the bath. Call the barber. I want everything to be prepare when I come down.” The master said, before the sound of the door closing could be heard as the vase next to him move a 1mm to the right. 

“Understood,” the servant whispered as he fixed the vase to its proper position. As the tip of his finger touch the vase, a strange sense that he had no longer felt begins to arise in his soul. Was it fear that is arising on his heart? Or was it the great sense of pride for a servant being used after it had accumulated years of cobwebs and finally able to stand in the light of dawn use? The servant doesn’t know for sure. But the questions about these mixed emotions continued to ripple in his heart, just as his footsteps are echoing in the silent hall of the unnamed palace. 

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Summary: 
-Introduction post