In the big mansion, the faint strains of slow pop music drifted from the main hall, the soft melody curling through the air like a gentle hum. The laundry area, tucked away in a quiet corner near the servants' quarters, was alive with the chatter of young maids, their voices mingling with the clatter of cleaning supplies and the rhythmic swish of mops on the tiled floor.
The room smelled of fresh detergent and lavender, the shelves lined with neatly folded linens and baskets of laundry waiting to be sorted. Sunlight streamed through a small window, casting a warm glow over the three maids gathered there, their aprons crisp but their conversation anything but formal.
Clara, the youngest of the trio, leaned against the counter, her mop forgotten in her hand as she stared dreamily at the ceiling.
"I wonder what their relation is…" she said, her voice soft, her mind clearly elsewhere.
