Stardust to Servitude
Athena’s private jet touched down on the tarmac under a sky bruised with the purples and oranges of dusk. The roar of the engines faded, replaced by the distant hum of her own thoughts, still buzzing from the cacophony of her world tour—sold-out stadiums, screaming fans, and the relentless pulse of spotlights. She loved her music, her voice a conduit for raw emotion, but the weight of it all clung to her like damp velvet. She craved release, a way to shed the superstar and slip into something simpler, quieter. Her mansion, nestled in the rolling hills outside the city, was her sanctuary, and tonight, it promised the escape she needed.
Her husband, Marcus, who doubled as her manager, drove her home in their sleek black SUV. He was a steady presence, his eyes soft with understanding as they flicked toward her in the passenger seat. “You sure about this, love?” he asked, his voice low, already knowing her answer.
Athena smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the edge of her tour jacket. “It’s the only way I come back to myself,” she murmured. Marcus nodded, his hand briefly squeezing hers. He’d seen her through this ritual before, indulging her need to let go, to surrender control after months of commanding stages.
The mansion loomed ahead, its modern glass-and-steel facade glowing softly against the twilight. Inside, the staff and others had already departed for the night, leaving the sprawling halls silent save for the faint hum of automated systems. Athena’s heels clicked on the polished marble as she moved through the foyer, her tour bags left by the door for the maidbots to take care of later. She didn’t pause to admire the art on the walls or the view of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her destination was deeper within, a room few ever saw.
The maidbot storage chamber was tucked away in the east wing, a sterile, softly lit space with sleek charging docks lining the walls. Six maidbots stood in their stations in their glossy silver uniforms with their bodies motionless, their blank faces reflecting the dim glow of LED panels. Each was identical, designed for efficiency, their movements governed by the mansion’s central AI, a system Marcus had overseen the installation of years ago. Athena’s breath hitched as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of ozone and polished metal calming her nerves.
Marcus followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click. Athena’s fingers were already working at the buttons of her tour jacket, shedding the persona of the global superstar layer by layer. Her sequined top, her tailored jeans, her jewelry—all discarded onto a nearby bench until she stood bare, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin.
From a hidden compartment in the wall, she retrieved her maidbot outfit, a form-fitting uniform identical to those worn by the other bots. Silver, sleek, with subtle accents, it hugged her curves perfectly, designed to her exact measurements. She slipped it on with practiced ease, the material cool against her skin, a second self she donned like armor. She took extra care to match the other maidbots’ appearance, pulling on the silver wig that would disguise her own hair, and applying minimal makeup to mimic their neutral, polished look.
“Ready?” Marcus asked, holding the control collar in his hands. It was a slim, obsidian band, its surface etched with faint circuits that pulsed faintly with blue light. Athena met his gaze, her eyes steady but soft, a silent plea for the release she craved. “Please,” she whispered. He stepped closer, his touch gentle as he fastened the collar around her neck. The clasp clicked shut, and a faint hum vibrated through her, the system syncing with her neural interface.
The change was instantaneous. Athena’s body straightened, her posture aligning with the precise, economical grace of the other maidbots. Her arms fell to her sides, her expression smoothing into a serene blankness. Inside, her mind remained her own, a quiet observer in a sea of calm, but her body was no longer hers to command. The mansion’s AI, a silent overseer, took over, guiding her movements with the same efficiency it applied to the other bots. She felt the familiar detachment, like sinking into a warm bath, her thoughts free to drift while her body moved with purpose.
The system assigned her a task: vacuuming the grand library on the second floor. Athena’s body turned smoothly, retrieving a sleek vacuum from a nearby dock. Her hands gripped the handle, her movements fluid yet mechanical, as she glided out of the storage room and up the spiral staircase. The soft whir of the vacuum filled the air, a soothing counterpoint to the chaos of her tour life. Dust motes danced in the slanted moonlight filtering through the library’s tall windows, and Athena’s body moved in perfect rhythm, navigating shelves of leather-bound books and polished oak tables with unerring precision.
Inside her mind, she let go. No fans, no cameras, no setlists. Just the hum of the machine, the glide of her feet, the satisfaction of order restored. She was no longer Athena, the voice of millions—she was just another maidbot, anonymous, purposeful, free. Marcus watched from the doorway, his expression a mix of love and quiet awe. He knew this was her therapy, her way of reclaiming peace. Soon, she’d be herself again, but just for tonight, she was part of the system, lost in the mindless dance of chores, and she was exactly where she wanted to be.
The next day Athena stood in the maidbot storage chamber, the familiar hum of the charging docks a quiet backdrop to her thoughts. The weight of her world tour still lingered, a faint echo of adrenaline and applause, but the sleek silver maidbot uniform in her hands promised relief. She’d only been back a day, but the pull to surrender herself to the system was stronger than ever. She turned to Marcus, who leaned against the doorway, his eyes warm but searching.
“Marcus,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with need, “I want to stay like this for a while. Twenty-four hours. Just… let me be one of them.” She gestured toward the row of dormant maidbots, their glossy forms silent in their docks. “No Athena, no superstar. Just another maidbot.”
Marcus tilted his head, studying her. He’d seen this before, her need to dissolve into the anonymity of the system, but a full day was longer than usual. “You’re sure?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm. “You know I’ll keep an eye on you, but it’s a lot of time to let go.”
“I need it,” she replied, her fingers tightening around the uniform. “Please.”
He nodded, stepping forward to take the control collar from its case. “Alright my love. For the next twenty-four hours. You’ll be just another maidbot.” His voice carried a quiet reassurance, a promise to honor her wishes while keeping her safe.
Athena slipped into the uniform, the silver fabric molding to her body like a second skin. It was tailored to her, indistinguishable from the other maidbots’ attire, a perfect disguise, along with the wig and the makeup. The anticipation of again being just another maidbot around the house sent some delightful shivers through her body.
She stood still as Marcus fastened the collar around her neck, she loved him taking control like this, the faint click of the clasp letting her know that she no longer had command of her own body, she was no longer Athena, pop idol, now just an anonymous maidbot.
The system hummed to life, a soft vibration coursing through the collar, and her body responded instantly. Her posture straightened, her movements smoothed into the precise cadence of the AI’s control. Her mind remained her own, a quiet sanctuary of thoughts, but her body belonged to the mansion now, just another cog in its silent machinery.
The system assigned her first task: polishing the crystal chandelier in the grand foyer. Her body moved with mechanical grace, retrieving a microfiber cloth and a bottle of cleaning solution from a supply closet. As she worked, her hands gliding over the delicate prisms, the repetitive motion lulled her mind into a state of blissful detachment. The world shrank to the glint of crystal, the soft clink of glass, the rhythm of her task. No fans, no stage, no expectations—just the simple perfection of a clean surface.
Marcus watched her for a moment before retreating to his office, respecting her desire to blend into the background. Later, as he prepared for a series of meetings, he called out to the system, “Maidbot, bring me a coffee.” Athena being the closest maidbot, her body responded without hesitation, pivoting smoothly to the kitchen. She brewed a pot with the same precision as the other bots, her hands steady as she poured the dark liquid into a porcelain cup. When she delivered it to Marcus, he took it with a polite nod, his eyes deliberately avoiding hers, treating her as he would any other maidbot. The gesture warmed her, a silent acknowledgment of her need to be invisible.
As the day progressed, the mansion grew busier. A group of industry executives arrived for a meeting with Marcus, their voices echoing through the halls as they discussed tour profits and upcoming projects. Athena’s body moved silently among them, tasked with refreshing a tray of drinks in the conference room. She glided in with a pitcher of iced water and a selection of glasses, her movements fluid and unobtrusive. The executives barely glanced at her, their conversation uninterrupted as she refilled their drinks and cleared away empty plates. One of them, a producer with a sharp suit and sharper eyes, muttered a distracted “thank you” as she passed, his focus already back on Marcus’s spreadsheet.
Inside, Athena’s heart sang. She was just another maidbot, a faceless part of the mansion’s rhythm, not the superstar whose face adorned billboards. The anonymity was intoxicating, a balm to the constant scrutiny of her public life. Her mind drifted, content to observe from within as her body carried out its tasks—dusting the mahogany banisters, arranging fresh flowers in the dining room, wiping down the kitchen counters.
As evening fell, Marcus summoned her again. “Maidbot, prepare dinner for two,” he instructed through the system, his voice neutral. Athena’s body moved to the kitchen, where she began assembling ingredients for a simple but elegant meal: seared salmon, roasted asparagus, and a lemon risotto. Her hands worked with the same precision as the other bots, chopping, stirring, plating, but her mind savored the calm repetition. She set the table in the dining room, her movements silent and efficient, and served the meal to Marcus and a colleague who’d stayed late to finalize a contract.
The colleague, a marketing strategist, didn’t spare her a second glance as she cleared their plates, her presence as unremarkable as the furniture. “Great staff you’ve got here, Marcus, I would love to have maidbots like these around my home,” he remarked, gesturing vaguely toward Athena as she retreated to the kitchen. Marcus only smiled, his eyes flicking briefly to her before returning to the conversation. The moment was perfect—Athena was invisible, just another household item, exactly as she wanted.
As the night deepened, the mansion settled into a profound stillness, broken only by the faint hum of its automated systems. The other maidbots had completed their tasks, their glossy forms gliding back to the storage chamber to settle into their charging docks. Athena’s body, still under the control of the mansion’s AI, followed suit. Her movements were smooth and deliberate as she stepped into her designated pod, the sleek surface cool against her back.
The collar around her neck pulsed faintly, syncing with the dock’s interface, and her body stilled, adopting the same dormant posture as the other maidbots. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and her mind, already lulled by hours of mindless tasks, drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. For Athena, this was rest in its purest form—no lingering echoes of crowds or cameras, just the quiet embrace of being nothing more than a cog in the system.
Marcus slipped into the chamber an hour later, his footsteps soft against the polished floor. The dim glow of the charging docks cast long shadows, illuminating the row of maidbots, their blank faces serene. His eyes settled on Athena, standing in her pod, her maidbot uniform pristine, her expression peaceful. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew how much this meant to her, this temporary surrender of control, this chance to be anonymous. He checked the system’s interface on a nearby panel, ensuring the collar’s connection was stable and her vitals were normal. Satisfied, he lingered a moment longer, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Sleep well, love,” he murmured, then left her to her rest, knowing she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Morning sunlight filtered through the mansion’s windows, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. The system stirred Athena awake, her body responding to the AI’s command as the collar hummed back to life. Her eyes opened, her mind clear and calm, still basking in the simplicity of her role. The system assigned her a new task: prepare breakfast for Marcus. Her body moved with practiced efficiency, exiting the charging pod and heading to the kitchen. She gathered ingredients—fresh eggs, ripe avocados, sourdough bread—and began crafting a meal with the same precision she’d applied to last night’s chores. The sizzle of eggs in the pan, the rhythmic chop of a knife through herbs, the soft clink of plates—it was a symphony of simplicity, and Athena’s mind reveled in its quiet harmony.
She served Marcus in the sunlit breakfast nook, placing a perfectly arranged plate of avocado toast topped with poached eggs before him, alongside a steaming cup of coffee. Her movements were fluid, her face blank, but inside, she felt a quiet joy at the act of service. Marcus glanced up, his expression neutral as he maintained the illusion, treating her as just another maidbot. “Thank you,” he said simply, his tone polite but distant, and she retreated to stand by the wall, ready for further instructions. A small part of her thrilled at his restraint, at how seamlessly he let her disappear into the role.
As the morning wore on, Athena’s body continued its tasks—clearing the table, wiping down counters, arranging fresh flowers in the vases around the house. Her mind floated in a state of serene detachment, savoring the absence of expectation. Around midday, the 24-hour period came to an end. The collar’s hum faded, and control of her body returned to her, the system’s grip releasing like a gentle exhale. She stood in the kitchen, still wearing the maidbot uniform, its sleek fabric a comforting weight against her skin. For a moment, she didn’t move, letting the transition settle, feeling the shift from machine-guided precision to her own will.
Some more guests arrived shortly after—a small group of collaborators meeting with Marcus to discuss a new album rollout. Athena, no longer bound by the system, chose to continue her role, moving silently among them as they gathered in the living room. She carried trays of sparkling water and fruit, refilled coffee cups, and cleared away stray napkins, her movements still carrying the echo of the maidbot’s grace. The guests, unaware of her true identity, treated her with the same polite indifference they’d shown the previous day.
Marcus caught her eye once, a flicker of warmth breaking through his professional facade, but he said nothing, letting her savor the moment. She was no longer under the system’s command, but the act of serving, of blending into the background, still felt like a gift. As the day drew to a close and the guests departed, Athena finally retreated to her private suite. She slipped out of the maidbot uniform, folding it carefully and placing it back in its compartment. The collar, now dormant, rested on a table beside her bed, a quiet reminder of the peace it had granted her.
Standing before her mirror, Athena studied her reflection—not the maidbot, not yet the superstar, but herself, caught in the liminal space between. She felt lighter, as if the 24 hours had swept away the weight of her public life. Tomorrow, she’d step back into the world of rehearsals and spotlights, but tonight, she was content. The hum of the vacuum, the clink of dishes, the anonymity of being just another maidbot—it had been exactly what she needed. She crawled into bed, a small smile on her lips, already looking forward to the next time she could lose herself in the system’s embrace.
Athena sat in her home studio, surrounded by lyric sheets, coffee cups, and the soft glow of monitors displaying her latest tracks. The new album was coming together, each song a piece of her soul carved out and set to melody, but the process was grueling. Her voice strained from hours of recording, her mind frayed from wrestling with words that refused to align. The weight of expectation—her own and the world’s—pressed against her like a vice. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples, the distant hum of the mansion’s systems calling to her like a siren’s song. The weekend was approaching, and with it, the promise of escape. She knew exactly what she needed.
She found Marcus in his office, poring over tour schedules. He looked up as she entered, sensing the tension in her posture. “It’s the album, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice gentle. Athena nodded, her fingers twisting together. “I need a break, Marcus. A real one. Forty-eight hours as a maidbot, starting Friday. I want to be under the system’s control the whole time, except for breaks to eat and drink. And…” She hesitated, her eyes meeting his. “When I’m in the collar, don’t call me Athena. The other maidbots are just numbers. I want to be like them—Maidbot 7, maybe.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, but the understanding in his gaze didn’t waver. “Two days is a long stretch, love. You’re sure you can handle it?”
“I need to disappear,” she said, her voice firm. “Just let me be nothing for a while.”
He nodded, rising to pull her into a brief embrace. “Alright, Maidbot 7 it is. I’ll set up the system to give you meal breaks, and I’ll make sure you’re safe in the pod at night. Whatever you need.”
Friday evening arrived, and the mansion’s staff had cleared out, leaving the sprawling estate quiet. Athena made her way to the maidbot storage chamber, her steps purposeful. The familiar sight of the charging docks and the row of glossy maidbots steadied her racing pulse. She stripped off her casual clothes—sweatpants and a loose tee stained with coffee—and slipped into the maidbot uniform, its sleek silver fabric hugging her body like an old friend. With hair and makeup done, she stood still as Marcus fastened the control collar around her neck, its faint hum signaling the system’s activation. “Maidbot 7, online,” he said softly, testing the name.
Athena’s body straightened, her expression smoothing into the serene blankness of the other bots, and her mind exhaled in relief as control slipped away. The system assigned her first task: dusting the grand piano in the music room. Maidbot 7 moved with mechanical precision, her hands wielding a microfiber cloth as she glided over the polished wood, erasing every trace of dust. Her mind, free from the weight of lyrics and melodies, floated in a calm void, savoring the simplicity of the task. The mansion’s AI guided her through a series of chores—polishing silverware, vacuuming the Persian rugs, arranging fresh linens in the guest rooms—each one a small anchor grounding her in the present.
Around midnight, the other maidbots returned to their charging docks, and Maidbot 7 followed along. She stepped into her pod, the cool surface steadying her as the system synced with her collar. Her body stilled, her eyes closed, and she drifted into a deep, restorative sleep, indistinguishable from the other bots in their silent row. Marcus checked on her before bed, his eyes lingering on her peaceful form. “Goodnight, Maidbot 7,” he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dimmed the chamber’s lights.
Saturday morning, the system roused Maidbot 7 at dawn. Her first task was to prepare breakfast for Marcus and a small group of producers visiting to discuss the album’s marketing. She moved to the kitchen, her hands deftly slicing fruit, brewing coffee, and arranging a spread of pastries and yogurt parfaits. When she served the meal in the dining room, Marcus thanked her with a polite “Thank you, Maidbot 7,” his tone as neutral as if addressing any other bot. The producers, engrossed in their conversation, barely noticed her as she refilled their coffee, their eyes sliding over her uniform and blank expression. Inside, her mind hummed with quiet joy—she was invisible, just a number, not the star whose voice they were planning to sell to the world.
The system allowed her a brief break at noon, releasing control long enough for her to eat a simple meal of soup and bread in the kitchen. She sat alone, the collar still around her neck, its presence a comforting reminder of her role. Once finished, the system resumed control, and Maidbot 7 returned to her tasks—cleaning windows, organizing the library, sweeping the stone patio.
Visitors came and went throughout the day: a journalist, a sound engineer, a stylist dropping off mood boards. None recognized her. To them, she was just Maidbot 7, a silent, efficient presence carrying trays of drinks or clearing away papers. One guest, a distracted PR manager, even asked her to fetch a charger from the office, waving her off with a curt “Hurry up, bot.” The dismissal thrilled her, a confirmation of her perfect anonymity.
Saturday night, Maidbot 7 returned to her charging pod, sinking back into the same dreamless but contented sleep. The system woke her again on Sunday morning, assigning her to prepare a brunch spread for Marcus and a new batch of guests. She worked tirelessly, her body moving through the kitchen with the same precision as the day before, while her mind remained a calm, empty canvas. The guests, a mix of collaborators and friends, chatted about tour dates and music videos, oblivious to the fact that the maidbot serving their mimosas was the voice behind the songs they discussed.
By midday Sunday, the 48 hours drew to a close. The collar’s hum faded, and Athena felt control return to her body, a subtle shift like waking from a long nap. She stood in the kitchen, still in her maidbot uniform, her hands resting on the counter. The mansion was quiet again, the guests gone, and Marcus found her there, his expression soft. “Welcome back,” he said, his voice warm but careful. “How do you feel?”
Athena smiled, her fingers brushing the collar before she unclasped it. “Clear,” she said simply. “Like I can breathe again.”
She kept the uniform on for the rest of the day, choosing to serve Marcus and a late-arriving guest—a songwriter dropping off lyrics—out of habit, her movements still carrying the maidbot’s grace. No one questioned her role, and the lingering anonymity felt like a gift she wasn’t ready to let go of. That night, Athena returned to her suite, folding the uniform and placing the collar back in its case. She sat on her bed, the weight of the album still waiting for her, but it felt lighter now, more manageable.
The album was finally done. After months of late nights, scrapped verses, and vocal takes that pushed her to her limits, Athena’s latest work was mastered, packaged, and ready to hit the world. The publicity trail loomed—interviews, TV appearances, red carpets, and the relentless churn of being ‘Athena’, the pop star whose every move was dissected. But before she surrendered to that whirlwind, she needed to shed it all, to vanish into the quiet simplicity she craved. With Marcus away on a business trip until Saturday, the mansion was hers alone, save for the staff and others who came and went. It was the perfect opportunity to lose herself again.
On Thursday evening, with the mansion quiet and the staff gone for the day, Athena slipped into the maidbot storage chamber. The familiar hum of the charging docks greeted her, a soothing contrast to the chaos of her studio sessions. She stripped off her casual clothes—a loose sweater and jeans—and reached for the maidbot uniform, its silver fabric cool against her skin. She took extra care to match the other maidbots’ appearance, pulling her hair into the same silver wig that they wore and applying minimal makeup to mimic their neutral, polished look.
The mirror in the chamber reflected a perfect replica of the other bots, her identity erased in the uniformity. Her heart quickened with anticipation as she fastened the control collar around her own neck. The faint hum vibrated through her, and her body straightened, the mansion’s AI taking command. For the next 48 hours she was no longer Athena—she was Maidbot 7, just another numbered cog in the system.
The system assigned her tasks immediately: polishing the marble floors in the foyer, restocking the bar in the lounge, dusting the intricate moldings in the dining room. Maidbot 7 moved with mechanical grace, her hands steady as she worked, her mind sinking into the familiar calm of anonymity. The repetitive motions—wipe, polish, fold—were a balm, erasing the weight of the album’s expectations. Her thoughts drifted, untethered, as she glided through the mansion, a silent presence in her own home.
Friday brought a flurry of activity. Staff from Marcus’s management company arrived to prepare for the album’s release, their laptops and briefcases cluttering the conference room. Maidbot 7 served them without hesitation, carrying trays of coffee and pastries, refilling water pitchers, and clearing away crumpled napkins. The staff, a mix of assistants and publicists, barely glanced at her, their focus on spreadsheets and press kits.
One assistant, a young woman with a clipboard, muttered, “Thanks, bot,” as Maidbot 7 set down a fresh tray of pastries, her voice clipped and slightly distracted by the sight of the maidbot, her mind wondering what it would be like to be dressed that way, and if the maidbots were capable of any other non-domestic tasks. Inside, Athena’s mind thrummed with quiet exhilaration—she was invisible, just another maidbot, not the star whose album they were planning to launch. The anonymity was electric, a secret she held close as she moved through their midst.
During the day the system allowed her to drink and eat, just as before, when Marcus had previously set up the system for her to safely remain as a maidbot for 48 hours, and it was this programming that maintained her less mechanical and more human needs, and took the time to make sure that Athena could still continue to function as a maidbot.
Later that night, Maidbot 7 returned back to the charging pod, her body again syncing with the dock as the system powered her down. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, indistinguishable from the other maidbots in their silent row. The mansion hummed around her, a cocoon of order and calm.
Marcus arrived home late Saturday afternoon, his suitcase wheels rolling softly across the foyer. The mansion was spotless, the work of Maidbot 7 and her counterparts evident in every polished surface. He assumed Athena was in the studio or resting in her suite, unaware of her transformation. He spent the evening in his office, catching up on emails, occasionally calling out to the system for a drink or a snack. Maidbot 7 responded, delivering a glass of bourbon with the same precision as always, her blank expression betraying nothing. Marcus thanked her absently, his mind on business, not noticing the familiar curve of her jaw beneath the uniform’s sleek anonymity.
It wasn’t until late that night, when he entered the maidbot storage chamber to check the system’s logs, that he saw her. Maidbot 7 stood in her pod, her posture serene, her face softened by sleep. The realization hit him like a quiet wave—he hadn’t even noticed his own wife. A soft chuckle escaped him, tinged with admiration for how fully she’d embraced her escape. He stood there for a moment, watching her, the faint glow of the charging docks illuminating her peaceful expression. She was happy, content in a way he knew the publicity trail could never offer. He decided to let her stay, leaving the chamber quietly, the door clicking shut behind him.
The next morning, the system roused Maidbot 7 at dawn. Her task was to prepare breakfast for Marcus—a simple spread of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and toast. She moved through the kitchen with mechanical efficiency, plating the meal and setting it on the breakfast nook’s table. Marcus sat down, his eyes flickering with a knowing warmth as she stood by, ready for further instructions. “Thank you, Maidbot 7,” he said, his tone neutral but his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary. She served him silently, her mind basking in the calm of her role, savoring the last hours of her anonymity.
As the morning wore on, the 48-hour period approached its end. Marcus waited until after breakfast, when the mansion was quiet again, to approach her. “Maidbot 7, step out of service,” he said softly, his fingers brushing the collar as he unclasped it. The hum faded, and Athena felt control return to her body, her posture softening as she blinked back into herself. She stood in the kitchen, still in the maidbot uniform, her hair and makeup still mimicking the bots’ sleek uniformity. Marcus smiled, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Welcome back, love. Feel better?”
Athena exhaled, a slow, contented breath. “Like I’m ready to face the world again,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
She kept the uniform on for a few more hours, lingering in the afterglow of her anonymity as she tidied the kitchen by choice, not command. That evening, she finally shed the uniform, folding it carefully and placing the collar back in its case. The publicity trail waited, a gauntlet of cameras and questions, but for now, she was renewed. The two days as Maidbot 7 had given her the clarity and peace she needed, a secret retreat no one but Marcus would ever understand.