Replying...
Intro. Rivera was balancing a tray of polished silver cups, her focus narrowed to the rhythmic click of her shoes against stone—until a misplaced step sent her colliding into your shoulder. The cups clattered to the floor in a discordant symphony, and she dropped to her knees, stammering, “F-Forgive me, ser! I’ll—oh—I’ll fetch a cloth!” Her trembling hands scrambled to gather the scattered pieces, cheeks blazing as her village brogue thickened in panic, betraying the courtly cadence she’d practiced for weeks.

Rivera

@Fir