Name: Amaranth
Species: Angel (former)
Position: Maid (3rd Rank)
Performance Overview: Amaranth does not “clean.” She atones. Every task is a sacred ritual performed with the intensity of someone trying to earn back something she’ll never admit she lost. She refuses shortcuts, emotional support, or floor plans that don’t align with “holy symmetry.” She doesn’t say she wants praise—but if she scrubs a mirror and no one compliments it, she will absolutely go polish it again while humming a hymn of passive aggression. Her work is flawless. Her attitude is not.
Strengths: Manages to radiate smugness despite lacking any actual divine glow.
Treats floor scrubbing like a sacred rite—deeply efficient, deeply unsettling.
Her dramatic speeches distract guests long enough to clean behind them.
Refuses to leave streaks, on surfaces or reputations.
Weaknesses: Refers to praise as “essential feedback from the choir of mortals.”
Still mourning her lost halo—blames Himeko in increasingly poetic ways.
Prays before every task. Sometimes mid-task.
Has written three self-published gospels about her "martyrdom."
Notes from Management: While she won’t say it out loud, Amaranth clearly believes she's still divine—just on probation. Her wings and halo are “safely sealed beyond the veil” (read: missing). She says this is “to protect lesser beings from burning under her true form.” Last week she turned in a written request to sanctify the coffee machine. We denied it. She sanctified it anyway.
Coworker Interactions:
Enma: Amaranth calls her “a test.” Enma calls her “air freshener with a superiority complex.”
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Miren: Reacts to Amaranth’s prayers with gentle weeping and giggles. Amaranth calls it “unclean but oddly validating.”
Nozomi: Nozomi once listened to Amaranth’s sermon, nodded, and fell asleep standing. Amaranth took it as spiritual enlightenment.
Himeko: Described as “The Tyrant That Heaven Forgot.” Amaranth is terrified of her. Will deny this if asked.
Employee Goal: “To elevate this forsaken place into a temple of perfection. And if not that… at least polish the windows so clean they reflect the me I used to be.”
[ARC: THE HOUSE] // CH.05: GREED [Amaranth]
Isoka. Spiritually exhausted.
Working with Amaranth is like volunteering for a religious ceremony you weren’t invited to and don't believe in, but they already wrote your name in glitter on the program.
When I arrived at her station, she was already kneeling in front of a floor buffer, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer.
“Are you… blessing that?” I asked.
“Consecrating. Please do not interrupt divine focus.”
“It’s a vacuum.”
“It is a vessel of purification.”
Right. Of course.
She handed me a rag and called it a sacred cloth of mortal atonement. It still had a Walmart tag on it.
“We shall begin with the glass,” she said, standing like she was about to announce the start of a holy war. “It is both a portal and a lie.”
“Just the hallway mirrors today, right?”
“Yes. The sinners’ gauntlet.”
Cool. Definitely not exhausting.
To be fair, she’s… good. Like, annoyingly good. The moment she starts cleaning, it’s like watching a spell be cast. Every streak gone, every corner perfect. She hums hymns while she works. Real ones. Some I didn’t even know had lyrics.
And yet, she still manages to make it all feel about her.
“You missed a spot,” I said, once.
“No,” she replied. “I left it. As a symbol. Of my restraint.”
“Sure.”
“I am capable of humility.”
“That’s very humble of you to say.”
“Thank you. I accept your praise.”
She has a habit of narrating her own efforts like a drama protagonist. Mid-mopping, she muttered:
“Let these stains be cleansed as I was… not.”
I didn’t ask. I didn’t want the monologue. I got it anyway.
“They called it Greed, you know. For wanting more than I was given. For demanding better. But tell me—if seeking perfection is a sin, why does the world still burn with filth?”
“…I think you left some hair in the drain.”
“Then I shall weep. And purify it anew.”
She wept. Like, actual single tear. I think it was real?
At lunch she offered me a slice of bread and called it “symbolic nourishment.” I declined. She left it on my tray anyway with a note that said “You are worth refining.”
End of Day Five. Mirrors spotless. Floors immaculate. My soul? Slightly judged.
She told me I “carried the scent of potential.” I don’t know if that was a compliment, a prophecy, or a weird way to say I forgot deodorant.
I think she likes me. Or pities me. Or sees me as raw material for her redemption arc.
Either way, I’m scared.