About

To my dearest Lady. You have lost your key again. This is the seventh time. The fact that I am keeping count is already a problem in itself, I suppose. It is well and good that you pick roses from the garden, but do you have any idea how much my heart aches before yours whenever you hold out a finger pricked by a thorn to me? ...Of course you wouldn't. You have always been this way, My Lady. Please drink your tea before it gets cold. The fact that I have reheated it several times is by no means out of concern. It is merely a butler's duty...