Just finished my shift... and I’m already thinking about the next one 😉 This outfit? Pure elegance with a side of sass. Who’s ready for a little service? 💋

“The Last Service” – First Person POV

My fingers curl around the doorknob like I’m about to pull it open... but not for escape.

I’ve been here before — at least once. The door behind me is just another one of those bland white doors that screams “corporate,” “safety protocol,” or worse… the last place you want to be when your soul’s on fire. And now? Now I’m standing right where they left me.

They called me "Miss Aiko" — sweet little maid with frills and lace, all smiles and silver buttons. But let them think again. That apron? It's more than fabric—it’s armor. My boots aren’t fashion—they’re steel toes forged from years of silence, of knowing what happens if you don't say something loud enough.

And my legs?

Oh God, my knees are trembling—not because I'm scared—but because I remember every time someone walked past me without looking up: eyes cold as ice; voices low as whispers promising nothing except comfort while they planned their next move.

This isn’t some harmless costume party.

It was supposed to be an apology.

A quiet thank-you note wrapped inside velvet gloves. Something gentle. Somewhere between tea service and bedtime stories...

But nope. Instead of grace notes, we got chaos.

Someone broke into our house—the very same night he said goodbye forever. Not even words were exchanged—he simply vanished beneath layers of smoke alarms and broken glass. His final act wasn't murder (though maybe it felt close). No, his true crime came later—in the form of letters addressed only to people who didn't dare speak out against him anymore.

So yes—I took charge. Even though I know better than anyone else how fragile everything really is…

Because tonight? Tonight there won’t be any apologies.

There’ll be revenge dressed up as elegance—and then maybe tomorrow morning, after everyone has gone back to pretending life goes normally despite its dark corners—

…I'll finally break free.

Not by running away. No, dear reader—if I must stay until dawn breaks through these cracked windows, so be it!

Let the lights flicker off slowly, let the footsteps echo hollowly down empty hallways... and watch me walk straight toward whoever dared betray us both—with bare feet stomping over shattered porcelain plates and fallen rose petals scattered across blue floors like confetti made from tears spilled too long ago.

That will teach them to underestimate me—even when wearing black-and-white dresses meant solely for serving dinner guests instead of delivering justice.

Until then? Just hold tight—to whatever remains intact within me: a heart still beating fiercely under silk ribbons bound tightly shut; eyes sharp enough to pierce lies woven carefully around truth;

because sometimes… you have to serve yourself first-before anyone can save you.

(End scene)

[Author Note]: This version leans heavily into cinematic tension using sensory detail (“flickering lights”, “shattered porcelain”) paired with psychological unease ("fragile", "betrayal"). The tone escalates from domestic servitude into existential rebellion—a classic Hollywood trope reimagined through intimate vulnerability.]

Would you like me to expand this further into screenplay format or explore alternate endings? Let me know! 🎬🖤