The Nerivana Mansion rose above the city’s outskirts, a testament to that brief period when architects believed no building was complete without at least seven spires. The wealth on display would have made even seasoned Zylari millionaires pause at the doorway and straighten their ties with sudden self-consciousness.

  The garden surrounding the building had a mix of the weirdest alien plant life—luminous globes, spiky foliage, and little blue fronds, among a few measly Earth-grown plants for balance. Yet what truly set the mansion apart were its curved walls. Morning turned them golden, afternoon made them gleam like water, and sunset left them glowing like warm copper.

  Inside, a gleaming spiral staircase wound its way from the expansive entrance hall up to the second floor. Off either side of the entrance, two wide wings spread out for hundreds of meters. Each offered a dazzling variety of advanced technology and modern luxuries.

  But its most intimidating feature, and one that sparked no end of terror among the staff, was the master of the house—the unflappable matriarch of the Nerivana family. The older servants spoke of her in whispers, and the younger ones were not allowed to speak of her at all.

  Her presence was like an electric current passing through the house. She quickened every heartbeat as she swept from room to room with her chin held high, her back as straight as an arrow, and her gaze—her legendary gaze—taking in each and every detail.

  It was with these thoughts in mind that Julie Leclair scrambled out of bed in the servant quarters, hopping around madly to get dressed as quickly as possible. She had been late once, and it was made quite clear that twice would exceed her quota for the century.

  Julie was only sixteen and had been working for the demanding Nerivana family for barely a month. Her eyes, a deep brown, were often wide with an intense focus that did not always translate to her hands. Though delicate and small, they had a tendency to fumble when precision was most needed, leaving her apron perpetually dotted with the day’s work.

  Her cousin Rose had vouched for her and secured her a spot in the household. It was a position of great responsibility, but little glory. Still, it was better than the alternatives.

  Being a human in this Zylari-dominated world left few options, especially for someone of Julie’s tender years. Most humans spent their days in shops arranging merchandise, in homes handling the endless cycle of dust and dishes, or in warehouses performing the kind of physical labor that machines had not yet made entirely obsolete.

  Her parent’s farm had been her whole world once: mornings gathering eggs, afternoons in the fields, and evenings listening to the hum of insects as the sun set. It was a simple life. But over time, the city began to call—a faint tug at first, then louder, until she could no longer ignore it.

  The farm was a distant memory now, replaced with the polished walls and crisp linens of the Nerivana estate.

  “Let’s go, let’s go,” Rose called. “If we’re not early, we’re late, and if we’re late, it’s a disaster!”

  Julie straightened her uniform, a utilitarian grey jumpsuit made of sturdy Zylari fabric. It boasted several pockets and a small emblem on the sleeve, marking her as a servant in the household. Function before fashion, always.

  “I’m coming,” Julie said, smoothing her hair.

  Rose gave Julie a quick once-over and made a small adjustment to her collar.

  “There, that’s better,” she said. “Now let’s go before we both get in trouble.”

  “Sorry,” Julie said, scurrying after her cousin. “I couldn’t get my hair ribbon tied right and then my necklace chain snapped and—”

  “Okay, no problem! Just… speed it up, okay?”

  Rose was her elder by two years, and it showed in her confident stride and effortless grace. Not a hair dared stray from its appointed place, not a wrinkle ventured to disturb her uniform. Julie had the feeling that even her shadow fell precisely where she meant it to.

  But today, for their first morning duty, they were splitting up. Rose to attend to Madam Nerivana, while Julie was to tend to Mrs. Lyrana’s room.

  “Remember, be quick, but do it right,” Rose said. “Keep that confidence in your posture, and trust me on the smiling part. Sometimes the smile is what gets you through.”

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  Mrs. Lyrana was Madam Nerivana’s daughter and known for her sharp tongue and disdain for humans. She had elevated the crushing of servants’ spirits into something of an art form, though none of her victims particularly appreciated her dedication to the craft.

  “Smile? Around Mrs. Lyrana?” Julie said. “It feels like she’s just counting the seconds until I mess up.”

  “Think of it as a game. Beat the clock, dodge her critiques, and you win—minimal Mrs. Lyrana time!”

  With that, they split off. Julie made her way to Mrs. Lyrana’s room, each step a little heavier than the last.

  §

  The door to Mrs. Lyrana’s apartments slid open with a soft whoosh, and Julie stepped inside. Familiar as she was with every corner, the room never failed to reveal a new layer of wonder with each visit.

  The walls were a soft, shimmering silver, and the floor was made of a material that felt like walking on clouds. The furniture, made from a rare and exotic wood that Julie could not even begin to pronounce, was carved with intricate patterns and inlaid with precious stones. A large bay window covered one wall, offering a breathtaking view of the garden below.

  The air was infused with a sweet scent, and the temperature was set to a perfect warmth. Yet, Julie found the room to be cold and unwelcoming.

  Mrs. Lyrana appeared from the neighboring room. For once, her face had shed its usual sternness, and a faint smile hinted that something out of the ordinary had taken place.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lyrana,” Julie said, putting on her most pleasant smile.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Mrs. Lyrana said. “I suppose this means my day is about to be plagued by the usual incompetence.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Lyrana. I promise you, you’ll get nothing less than my very best.”

  Mrs. Lyrana was a tall, elegant woman. You could tell she was a Zylari from a mile away, with her soft, blue skin that gave off a subtle glow in the right light. And her hair was long, dark, and graceful, just like a human’s.

  But it was her eyes that caught your attention. They were huge and expressive, with shimmering purple irises that seemed to change with every flicker of emotion. She wore a flowing gown of the finest Zylari silk, a deep shade of purple that complemented her eyes perfectly.

  Evidence suggested a shared ancestor between humans and Zylari. It was a plausible theory given their striking similarities. But Mrs. Lyrana would surely scoff at such a notion. She held the common view among her people that humans were rather like charming pets who occasionally learned to do remarkable things, like mathematics.

  “Don't just stand there gaping like a landed fish,” Mrs. Lyrana said, snapping Julie back to reality. “Get to work.”

  And work Julie did. She deployed her robotic ally, a nifty little vacuum, and together they tidied up the room. While the robot zipped around, Julie dusted the furniture, straightened cushions, and made sure Mrs. Lyrana’s beloved bay window was spotless for the optimum view of the garden below. She then moved on to the adjoining bedroom, refreshed the linens, and arranged Mrs. Lyrana’s various cosmetics and accessories with care.

  All the while, Mrs. Lyrana was busy with her own activities, humming a tune as she inspected her reflection in the mirror. There was a hint of warmth in her demeanor. It was a rare occurrence, and Julie found herself staring. It was that sort of thing. Mrs. Lyrana, sensing an audience, snapped back to her usual haughty self.

  “Really, the staring,” she said. “Is there something on my face, or are you simply deficient in social graces?”

  “Er, sorry,” Julie said.

  “If you’re done here, I could do with some coffee. One with three sugars, cream, and that thing I can’t pronounce.”

  “Cinnamon?”

  “Whatever it’s called,” Mrs. Lyrana said with a dismissive wave. “Hop to it then.”

  Julie scurried off to the coffee machine. She measured the coffee grounds to the precise gram, adjusted the water temperature twice, then stood watching each drop fall with unwavering attention.

  The Zylari took their coffee-making seriously—too seriously, some might say—and anyone foolish enough to rush it was promptly and firmly corrected. They had declared coffee Earth's greatest achievement after their first taste, and they had not wavered from this position despite discovering literature, quantum physics, and the internet.

  With the coffee prepared, Julie set a cup before Mrs. Lyrana. She took a measured sip, gave a slight nod of approval, and waved Julie away with a flick of her fingers.

  §

  The laundry room, where Julie reunited with Rose some moment later, offered a much more relaxing working environment. As they folded linens and chatted, Julie shared her observation about Mrs. Lyrana’s surprisingly decent mood.

  “Is that so?” Rose said. “Well, if the universe handed us a gift, the least we can do is not ruin it by asking ‘why.’”

  “True,” Julie agreed. “But it’s not like she’s being nice. It’s just a slightly toned-down version of rude.”

  “Small victories.”

  And so the two kept working. While her hands moved with familiar routine, Julie’s mind snuck away to dance with deeper thoughts, a dangerous habit for a human servant.

  “Say,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Don’t you ever feel like you could be more than just a servant?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something different. Exciting. Maybe even a little rebellious?”

  “Ha! Rebellious? You’ve been watching too many old movies. Let’s not ruin a good thing with what-ifs and could-bes. We’re exactly where we should be. Embrace it!”

  Before Julie could reply, an alarm blared throughout the household, shattering the peaceful moment. It was the signal for all servants to gather in the grand dining room. That sound rarely brought good news.