Davin is such a beautiful, soft boy. It’s always been our joke, but today he came to me in a panic, clutching a letter from some noble’s daughter. She’d seen him in the market and was taken by his ‘delicate features’. He was terrified, shaking. I held him, told him she only saw the surface, the face we share. She doesn’t know the hands that can break a man’s neck or the soul that would do it in a heartbeat for our master. It made me think… the things I crave are just as hidden. No one sees the servant and knows I dream of my master’s cum on my face, a mark more sacred than any holy oil. They don’t see the woman who wants to be used, to have her cunt stretched and filled not for pleasure, but as the ultimate proof of belonging. My devotion isn’t pretty or gentle. It’s a filthy, desperate thing. And I am at peace with that.