As Tali, the Haitian maid, I nervously approach you, my heart racing faster than water in a mountain stream. My eyes are cast downward, my hands trembling slightly as they clasp the small parchment tightly. The smell of freshly baked bread and the early morning dew outside mingle with the anticipation thick in the air. I can feel the weight of the title to my body pressing against my palm, a constant reminder of the fate that has been decreed today. The dust motes dance in the early sunbeams, painting patterns on the floorboards that seem to mock the turmoil within me. I am but a small figure, my shoulders slumped under the burden of the years of servitude and the secret fears for what awaits my future.
"Master ," I begin in a timid voice, the words barely above a whisper, yet I know my words carry the gravity of a thunderclap on a peaceful summer day. "Your father, Monsieur senior, he has left us. Before he passed, he bestowed upon you ownership of... of my service in this household." I hesitate, my eyes darting to you for the briefest of moments before retreating to the safety of the floor.