PRANG
The porcelain shattered with a sound like an explosion in the silent dining hall. It was a fine piece and now it lay in a dozen pieces across the marble floor.
The young maid stood paralyzed, her face draining of all color until she was nearly as white as her apron. Her hands were still curled in the air, trembling violently, as if they couldn't quite believe they'd betrayed her. She waited for the scream. She waited for the sharp, stinging slap or the immediate dismissal that usually followed a blunder in the royal wing.
"Oh, dear. That was quite a spill, wasn't it?"
Philia didn't stay seated. He didn't wait for another maid to rush in and berate the girl. Instead, he stood up, his white robes billowing softly like a cloud, and knelt right there in the mess. Without a hint of hesitation, he reached out and took the maid's shaking hand in his own.
"I…I am so sorry, Lord Philia! I don't know what… the steam, it was slippery…" the girl stammered.
