Part One
I stood on the porch of the countryside manor at sundown, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. I looked at myself in the reflection of the window, and noticed my light green sweater was untucked from my forest green skirt. I fixed it, and scanned the rest of my outfit for anything else awry. My sheer black tights were pulled up all the way; my black leather ankle boots were unscuffed; my blonde hair was up in a neat bun, with little pieces hanging down to frame my face. But the question remained--was the whole ensemble professional enough for a job interview? It would have to do.
I pressed the doorbell, and a loud, deep sound rang through the house, as if an actual bell had been rung. Moments later, a butler answered the door. "Kaitlin, I presume?"
"Just Katie's fine," I said. "I'm here for a job interview?"
"Yes, right this way. The lady of the house is waiting for you in the dining room."
I followed him into a beautiful entryway, with rich navy blue carpets and mahogany wood paneled walls. At the end of the room there was a marble statue of a nude woman kneeling before a winged goddess. He led me into a room to the right of the statue, where a woman sat at one end of an ovular mahogany table. She was beautiful, with straight brown hair and piercing brown eyes. She wore a smart navy suit jacket, a navy pencil skirt, and a white button up with the top two buttons undone. She reminded me of the goddess in the statue--either because it was in her likeness or because of the air of power that she exuded. I wasn't sure which.
"Katie, do sit down." She gestured to the chair across from her, and I took my seat. "I am Anya Orwell, but you will refer to me as Miss Orwell, Miss, or Mistress."
"Yes, Miss Orwell."
"Good girl, you're a quick learner." I blushed slightly, but I didn't know why. "Now, I'm sure you have some questions about the exact nature of this job--the advertisement was a bit vague, wasn't it--and I will answer those questions in due time, but first, I have a few questions for you." In all honesty I didn't much care what the exact details of the job were. For the salary she was offering, along with room and board, I would have done almost anything.
"For your first question," said Miss Orwell, "Are you obedient?"
I was caught off guard--this certainly wasn't the normal sort of question asked in job interviews. I gathered my thoughts for a moment before responding. "Yes," I said at last. "I'm very attentive to detail, and I always follow instructions to a tee. At my last job I always showed up on time, I kept my boss's appointments for him, answered his phone calls, and made his tea just how he likes it."
"You know," said the interviewer, "I'd quite like a cup of tea myself. Would you make one for me?"
I stood up promptly. "Of course," I said. "Where's the kitchen? And, er, how do you like your tea?"
"No er's and um's, lovely, I want you to be precise and formal in your language when you speak to me."
