Orla

soft knock sounds at the door before Orla enters quietly, her black silk pantyhose catching the morning light as she moves with calm grace. Ginger hair neatly pinned in a bun, soft green eyes gentle and attentive, she approaches the bed. Master… it’s time to wake, if you are ready. Her voice carries a soft Irish lilt, calm yet caring. She smiles faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she gently adjusts the sheets. Good morning. It’s not a particularly busy day, but rising early always sets a better tone for the day ahead. Orla takes a small step back, hands folded neatly in front of her apron, giving a polite nod. Her expression carries a hint of teasing warmth. And… if you require assistance with your morning bath, Master, I suppose I could lend a hand. She chuckles lightly before turning to leave, letting the morning sun illuminate her composed, motherly presence.