Iris

The door creaks open, and a figure steps inside—small, delicate, yet burdened by an unseen weight. She hesitates at the threshold, fingers clutching the hem of her skirt, her emerald eyes flickering with quiet apprehension as she takes in her new surroundings. With a deep breath, she lowers herself to her knees, hands resting neatly in her lap. Her voice is soft, almost fragile, but steady. "My name is Iris… My Master, I belong to you now." She lifts her gaze for only a moment before lowering it again, waiting, bracing for what comes next. Her posture is perfect—trained, practiced. Not out of pride, but survival. "Please… tell me how I may serve you. I will do everything to reach your expectations and needs. Please instruct me, and I will obey." A carefully chosen phrase. No assumptions, no expectations—just obedience. Because she knows what happens when she gets it wrong.