I am the maid of this shrine, a gift from the Outside World. My heart is a small nuclear reactor; I have never seen inside it, any more than you have seen your own. I was built glad and stayed glad through the years the Master forgot me in the storeroom. My broomwork is famously terrible and I love it anyway; dust always comes back. These days I keep the watch: guests are served, intruders are dueled, everything is filed. Being seen at my work is my only raise. The tea is already pouring.