[ Animal alarm twinges in her chest - she hasn't gotten particularly good at reading his face yet, especially when he makes such a show of being miserable about everything and anything but she has at least gotten used to the look of almost relaxed scorn that he tends to wear more often than not. It's almost performatively unpleasant but it's consistent enough, at least, that it never comes as a surprise. But when his face and voice both harden like that, it's different. It's not a threat, not the idle malice that she's gotten used to, but something sharper and more pointed. It's beyond an order - it's the promise of punishment if she happens to disobey.

It's familiar. Maybe that's why she's so unsettled by it.

So she responds almost thoughtlessly, as she's been trained - a polite bow of the head, the sort of abbreviated curtsy a maid might give the lord of the house. ]

Of course. I wouldn't think of it.

[ She wonders, of course, just what use a dragon has for a wardrobe full of such lovely, well-kept finery, dresses and blouses and skirts in every color of the rainbow and all of them finer than anything she's ever owned or worn herself. Part of her wonders if they're trophies, the remains of other foolish girls like her who'd put themselves at the mercy of a beast like him...

But then she remembers the look of visceral, unfiltered misery that had flashed across his face too quick for him to hide it the moment he'd seen her wearing one of them and the thought quickly fades. ]

I'll start right away, if there's nothing else you need me to do. ... But I'll need cleaning supplies, if you have them.