The apartment sits in an unnatural quiet.
That, alone, should've been a warning.
Vaela shuffles out of her room, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair a sleepy mess and her eyes barely open. She yawns with the drama of a half-dead opera singer and pads across the marble floor toward the kitchen.
"Eris… coffee." she groans.
"Already waiting on the balcony, Miss Moonblood," Eris says in her ever-smooth voice. "Brewed to 97.5 degrees Celsius. Ethiopian blend, splash of cream, half-spoon raw cane sugar."
Vaela gasps like a pilgrim discovering a holy relic. "You're a goddess!"
"I am a subroutine," Eris courteously corrects her.
Vaela picks up the steaming cup and takes her first sip with a full-body shiver. "Forget conquering the world. I need an Eris in my life."
"Would you like me to inform Mr. Virellin of your request? He may authorize a custom build."
Vaela laughs through her second sip. "I was joking."
