"What are you still doing here?!" A maid snapped at her colleague.
"They need the assorted butter platter for breakfast!" She shouted, and in mere milliseconds after this, she snatched the butter serving tray from the other person.
"Give it here! I'll send it myself! Nothing ever gets done around here unless I do it myself!" She snapped and then, balancing the tray expertly, with one arm behind her, she walked briskly to the breakfast room. However, she did not see the scorn and mockery on the faces of the ones left behind.
"There she goes again, springing to life the second that the masters gather," one maid muttered under her breath. The others snorted, their eyes flicking toward the corridor where she had disappeared into, tray balanced perfectly in her hand.
She wasn't incompetent. No, that was far from it. Her work was often spotless, her deliveries prompt, and her timing uncanny. But it wasn't her hands they questioned—it was her heart.
