#reverence

I need Robby to rock Whitaker's world out of pure jealousy.

By the light of a single candle, my quarters become a steeple. I kneel, after many arduous hours of duty, and polish my blade. This is my prayer. As my fingers caress the cold, sleek metal, I am unable to stop myself from thinking, instead, of your skin. I tremble at the thought—to touch you, my prince, my God… But these hands have done terrible things, and I must not sully you with them. It is my duty to bleed so you do not have to, my lord. I am dirty so that you may remain clean. I dare not wish to know your touch, for I am not worthy of such grace and gentleness.