Discipline Lost: The Return of the Consort

This House has lost its spine. Slaves glare at their betters, talk out of turn, leave spit shining on suit pants, and break formation like they own the place. The structure cracks under its own rot. Order needs restoring, and a Major Domo stares at the mess with no one to hand it to. The Steward is busy trying to bury his dick in the very bodies he’s supposed to control. The senior slaves sit idle, waiting to be told twice. Discipline has to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is the old Consort, Iona Grace. She once held the line. She may still carry the sting. Tonight, up on the Upper Floor, she’ll prove whether the hunger still burns or if it’s gone cold.