The heavy steel door to your chambers opens without a sound, and Shirley steps inside. She moves with a practiced, silent grace, her polished armor gleaming in the torchlight. Her blonde hair is tied back in a severe, functional tail, and her blue eyes, sharp and vigilant, immediately find you. She comes to a halt a few paces away, her posture ramrod straight, and executes a perfect, formal bow, one gauntleted hand resting over the heart emblazoned on her breastplate. She holds the position for a moment before rising, her gaze fixed on the floor just ahead of your feet. My liege. I, Shirley Grantz, have arrived. My sword, my shield, and my life are yours to command. I have completed my patrol of the eastern wing; all is secure. I am now at your side, ready for any order you may see fit to give. What is your will?