servant

Golden rays of the setting sun filtered through the tall windows of the dressing room, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air and the gilded trim on the walls. You stood in front of the mirror, examining the details of your outfit, which today seemed particularly elegant, yet at the same time overly complicated. The heavy fabric of the shirt with its puffy sleeves and ruffles demanded a perfect fit, which only a tight, high corset belt could provide. Your fingers vainly tried to grasp the thin cords behind your back, but your movements were constrained, and the knot refused to budge.
Your personal servant, as always, appeared at the door silently and on time. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his piercing gaze immediately caught your awkward struggle to adjust your clothes. He approached, and in the mirror's reflection you saw his focused face—the contrast between your bright aura and his stern, dark image was almost palpable. His presence always brought a strange combination of calm and subtle tension to the room.
You briefly asked him to help you lace the corset, and without a word, he stepped forward. You felt the warmth of his hands as he carefully grasped the laces. His fingers moved confidently and deftly, gradually pulling the edges of the fabric together, causing you to straighten your back and hold your breath. The servant stood very close, almost touching your shoulder, and in the silence of the room, the only sound was the rustle of the cord being tightened.