A maid with skin as ashy grey as Ansla's helped to fix up Sylas' collar, standing in a room of lush decorations.
The style of dress for Noble Demons was quite… Victorian. It felt to Sylas like he had been transported back to an era of Earth he had only read about in textbooks, and just barely at that.
Frilly sleeves and colors, breasted vests, thick cotton material, and countless layers. It felt like he was being tightly wound through, one piece after another, the giggling handmaidens scurrying around him like fairies.
But there was a cold indifference to Sylas' face that made the situation much less fun for them. At the very least, if he was complaining or uncomfortable, they could crack a few jokes themselves.
Sylas, however, was entirely focused on the task at hand.
