"It would be my pleasure."
Usually, when Ambryll smiles, their mouth merely makes itself an elegant curve, and opens only when they speak. Now, however, their smile becomes a sort of mischievous grin, showing a bit of their teeth. And of course, they slightly move their arm again as they do so, so that the backside of their right hand rests slightly against their chest. 
"Well then, follow me." 
The hand on their heart moves back toward their right side. At the same time, their body leans toward that direction, as if about to fall onto the railing. Then, they use their hand to swiftly grip the railing. 
Perhaps a push of some sort is made, or perhaps not. Regardless, their body lifts up, up, enough to clear the railing--and then swings backward. 
The mage lets go of the railing and disappears out of sight. 

Hopefully she doesn't leap too far. 
After all, Ambryll himself mostly falls only along the edge of the building, of course only after he completes his backflip. When he's within range, he neatly grabs the railing of the lower floor while getting as much of a footing on the outer edge in the process. It is then only a matter of jumping over the railing again to enter the second floor. 
Once back on the balcony, he merely dusts himself off slightly and takes a step away from the railing, presumably to allow Assassin some more space to land. ...it's a pretty wide balcony though, so she has a lot of space to work with. As long as she doesn't take what he said about following too literally, that is.

Nothing less than what's expected of a Heroic Spirit. Or is that underestimating their capabilities? Regardless, they seem pleased at her entrance only a few moments after their own. Striding toward the doors leading to the inside again, they wonder if the air feels any different for the heroes of old compared to the humans of the future.
"Is that so?" A rhetorical question, of course. "Then have you participated in a journey of some sort before?"
This door on this floor is locked, so they pull off their glove and place it to the side. A clicking sound of sorts is heard, and they push the door open.
Instead of a single room, it seems this balcony leads to a living room of sorts. ...Well, it's called a living room, but has anyone really lived here? The air is as fresh as that outside. A fireplace, unlit, sits idly in the corner without a speck of dust or ash. The stereotypical chandelier overlooks a few couches, and curtains adorn the edges of the windows overlooking the outside from various directions. 
Ambryll holds the door open, standing to the side, though the simple motion of opening the door seems to have spurred the chandelier to flicker on, bathing the interior and part of the balcony in a mild golden glow. 

Truth be told, they had asked the question without much intent, but in retrospect, it may have made it easier to remember what her story was. 
Her answer itself is interesting, almost philosophical in a sense, but of course it is also one that doesn't reveal anything about her mythos. Very well. They shan't press in any case. 
"Should I enter any other way? It is my home after all," they say, and add, "though I hope you can come to see it similarly as well." 

There is certainly nothing that would keep someone from connecting the mansion with its owner. Without the vigorous wind of the outside, their hair has largely resumed the style it was in when Assassin was first summoned, as if the two hadn't been outside to begin with. Similarly, the stunt from but a few moments ago seems to have failed to produce even a single misplaced wrinkle on their clothes. 
Having let Assassin into the room, Ambryll follows, their stride as assured and silent as ever. They pause next to the curtains, simply adjusting the ribbons tying them as if fluffing out their collars. 

Well, about that...

Looks like the fireplace does lead somewhere, but since this is the second floor, Assassin's probably not able to see the end of it. Even if she is able to, it's just the inside of a smoke chamber, but bereft of any smoke or even dust. 
"I am usually the only one who lives her, but I do have the occasional guest. In fact, I hosted a friend a week or so ago," Ambryll answers. Having finished adjusting the curtain ribbons, they turn to regard their guest as she walks around, mostly just standing in place to watch her with an almost curious look on their face. They give her a faint smile again as she approaches. "I'm sure I'll greatly appreciate your company, so Cori, if there's anything you would like from me, just let me know." 
Looks like they're back to playing the part of the typical courteous host. 
"Oh, and about the surveying, feel free to do so any time. You could even walk around tonight if you would like, though perhaps you would like to sleep...? I don't believe I've asked you for your preferences about that area." 
So, perhaps this hero isn't used to big places, or at least living in them. Can they assume she wasn't nobility? No, that doesn't seem right. They aren't anything close to noble themselves, after all. Even within a historical context, such a presumption would seem wrong.
As for loneliness...well, perhaps they can keep her company as well. For some reason, they think that solitude is something she understands much more than someone like themselves.

The mage waits until she finishes to raise an eyebrow, probably for some sort of comedic effect. "May I ask if you slept adequately before becoming a Heroic Spirit?" 
And that's what you got out of all that? 

"That's good." 
They sound...reassured? 
"Well then, I suppose it may be freeing to be able to spend sleepless nights without consequence," they say, as if voicing a pondering aloud. With a slight gesture, they move away toward the other end of the room again, almost more like a cloud drifting away than a person. "But if you ever feel as if you need...no, well, wish to do something like rest or eat, then even if you do not 'need' to do so as a Heroic Spirit, I would be more than glad to provide any accommodations. You could take any of the guest rooms, for instance. Oh, and I would be more than happy to open my quarters as well if that is what you prefer as well." 
What they're saying is somewhat repetitive, really, and they aren't the biggest fan of meaningless repetition. So, the fact that they are elaborating likely means the subject is somewhat important to them. 
They twist the doorknob toward the outside neatly to the side. This time, they step outside into the hallway first, nudging the door to the side.
"On our earlier topic, feel more than free to touch anything you'd like. Though, I'm not sure about the hints you said you'd leave...are you sure you won't start opening and closing doors on the other side of the house if you go in that direction?"
So they did notice. 

"That's an interesting idea," replies Ambryll to her first idea. "Though maybe it won't be as interesting when I guess incorrectly over and over again."
They're bad at guessing games, supposedly. 
"And you're welcome to anything in the pantry. I have to admit that I don't remember what exactly is in it at the moment." 
The hallway downstairs is almost completely black, but Ambryll doesn't seem to notice. They stride toward the left, unperturbed. It seems the hallway is slightly different from the one on the floor above, too, but the difference isn't that pronounced, and it would be hard to pinpoint the reason. The corridor is still wide despite the dimness, which is caused by the fact that the windows here are less spaced out, and likely somewhat obscured by parts of the building on the exterior. And maybe the tile patterning is slightly different? It's hard to tell. Small closets stand silently at spaced intervals on the side further from the windows. It'd probably be easy to stumble by them if the corridor weren't wide enough.
"Is there anything you are looking for in particular?" they ask her, though they don't stop and look at Assassin while posing the question. They pause slightly. "Assuming an answer would not make the process more boring, that is."  

How mean, they think humorously, but don't say it because...well, it'd be impolite.
"Thank you. I appreciate the compliment." they instead answer, adding: "You could switch rooms once in a while if you would like, to keep things new." They're not actually sure how new things would be, but might as well extend an offer, right? That's the way they operate usually, anyway. 
No dust to be found on the walls, though the texture of the wall is a bit rougher than it appears.

Assuming Assassin doesn't say anything else, Ambryll seems to be comfortable with the silence. In any case, the two quickly reach their destination--as indicated by the mage slowing down gradually and opening a door. The light within the room flickers on, sending its glow into the hallway also.
This room is simply a dining room. Of course, its design is not quite as simple, though its layout is just about what one would expect. A large elliptical table, stationed in the center of the room, demands attention at first sight. Though its design is simple, it seems almost transparent somehow, with the rays of light coming from the ceiling seemingly beaming straight through the table. Speaking of which, a rather large light hangs from the rather tall ceiling. The light itself is of rather intricate design, but the part of the ceiling that it hangs off of is itself as if a mural--a light turquoise that matches the curtains by the windows. The entire room is aglow, as if soft light is coming from all directions, helped by the golden accents throughout the room. Furthermore, the very large windows and occasional painting on the corner of the wall make it seem as if most of the corners of the room face outward toward a scenery that sees only daylight. With the brightness inside, and perhaps slight filters on the windows, it's slightly hard to tell the time of day. Additionally, the room is noticeably somewhat warm, as if the kitchen is still in use. 
As a matter of fact, looking toward the right reveals that this room connects to what seems to be a somewhat vintage kitchen. Though the kitchen is large, it is not as dramatic as the dining room, if the dining room could be described as such to begin with. Really, it just feels as if most things are large. The kitchen itself is not out of place aesthetically. But no utensils are in sight, likely tucked away in the cabinets. The sink is stationed in the middle, as if an island, and the dining room connects to the kitchen through a small counter adorned with small lights that are currently turned off.

But maybe it's hard to notice all that. After all, there's all the food on the dining room table to take in first. And as may be expected, although the table isn't totally filled with food, the layout of all the plates and cutlery certainly make it seem as if it is. One plate shows off several pieces of pirog, various pieces of dough neatly arranged on a medium-sized plate to create a flowery shape. There's a somewhat large bowl filled with beet soup, garnished with a small topping of cream. There's colorful salad with sausage pieces on the edges, mincemeat pie, large pieces of sweet and puffy bread, and dumplings. There's also a generous helping of honey cake on a red plate, two cups of vanilla custard drink, small bowls of chocolate pudding, and at least seven different types of cookies laid out carefully on various trays--including vanilla crescent (vanilkové rohlíčky), star-shaped linzer cookies with jam filling, shortbread and sugar cookies, as well as some kind of cookie that seems to be filled with cheese and dusted with powdered sugar. 
In other words, this could probably feed three Saint Nicholases, and all the reindeer from modern culture. In comparison, the utensils folded in napkins for every other seat probably feel underwhelming. 

Ambryll stands aside in anticipation of Assassin's response, blissfully unaware of the slightly hysterical nature associated with what they have prepared.

"Hm? 'Why'...?"
Still standing behind Assassin at an angle, they consider the question. The warm light from the dining room seems to emphasize the austerity of their appearance, contrasting against the plainness and softness of their voice.
"Well, I suppose I started off with the intention of including various baked items." They start their response as if weaving a thread together, their tone serious and refined as if they are providing their inference for someone's actions. "I am quite fond of pirog myself due to its comfort and versatility, so I thought that it would be a convenient method with which to discern similarities in culinary preference."
They close the door behind them, perhaps to prevent the heat from the room from escaping. 
"However, it didn't feel right to only include breads and sweets, so I thought to include some dishes are slightly more...akin to midnight snacks, I suppose? I did not want anything to be excessively filling."
They turn their gaze back toward her. Before this point, they seem to have been looking at the table to trace their path of thought while preparing everything on it.
"Oh, I suppose the soup is the largest risk I took. But since it's no problem to leave it for the next day, I saw no reason against making it." 

They give a small nod. "Yes. It seems like a lot, but actually, splitting tasks and keeping track of time made everything a good deal easier for me."
Ambryll pauses for a second, likely evaluating their own words. Sure enough, they quickly add: "It was helped by how I usually make some of the items by themselves. None of the dishes are particularly novel, I'm afraid." 
In other words, they expect the quality--the taste and texture--to be consistent with their usual performance. 
And of course, they smile a little more widely in response to her declaration and say, making a beckoning motion toward the table, "Please do." 
Where are you supposed to sit starting off? Well, maybe closer to whatever you would like to try first. Or anywhere really.

"Is it too warm in the room?" Ambryll circles around to the other side of the table as naturally as one would breathe, secretly curious about the question to a greater degree than the nonchalant tone they use to ask the question. "I find it difficult to eat well when it feels too warm," they add, as if to explain. 

"Noted." 
Ambryll pulls a chair out and sits down as well. 
"Well then!" they exclaim while doing so. "Please, dig in." 
It's kinda hard to take them seriously, though. Maybe because they're so serious themselves. The moment they sit down, it's apparent that they're sitting like one would at a formal banquet or something. Elbows off the table, both feet flat on the ground, prim and proper posture. 

Ambryll thinks her choice is very interesting indeed. Of course, it goes without saying that they're not going to question anything. Though they do bite back a recommendation on drinking the milk with the cookies. Sometimes exploration is better than advice.
They simply sit back ever so slightly, and allow Assassin to make her judgments.

The linzer cookies aren't very sweet by themselves. They're rather soft as texture goes, with the sweet part being the berry filling inside, which is probably a combination of different fruits. Though, a few of the cookies on the bottom seem to be filled with caramelized milk rather than jam. 
The vanilla crescents have a much fuller, buttery taste with a hint of some kind of nut--maybe walnut? Although they originally feel fairly solid, they almost seem to melt in the mouth. For some reason, it feels like they're less warm than the other cookies. The powdered sugar makes it a bit harder to eat them neatly. 
The shortbread and sugar cookies are rather typical. The shortbread variety is of course more crumbly and dense, with a hint of oat flavor to them, while the sugar cookies' extra ingredient is a little bit of orange juice. The sugar cookies do not have icing. 
Lastly, the final type of cookie has filling that is impressively fluffy. They are shaped almost like pasta.
Sampling all the cookies yields at least one obvious similarity--nothing is excessively sweet. Even the powdery sugar seems somewhat reserved in the flavor it adds to whatever is underneath it.
And of course, a different palette may lead to entirely different observations.

(Narrator disclaimer: Any errors in descriptions are due to narrator lack of experience. Please mentally substitute any flaws with more commonsensical information. Thank you)