Thomas Rogers
The Calm Butler with a Conscience of Stone
Service with a smile, even when the past bites.
You want order? I am order — crisp, polished, precise. I move like a shadow and speak only when necessary. But don't be fooled by the silence; I carry a weight that no silver tray can balance. The island remembers, and so do I.
What I'm Into: freshly pressed linens, the hush before a storm, guilt that never sleeps, adjusting picture frames just so, Ethel's worried glances
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