This has been my tenth years of serving you, Sir.
And I’ve been gladly on doing so. I ask for no freedom.
As well as 248 times I’ve written the same kind of letter in these blank pages, pouring out my unspoken feelings for I have been a saint enough to keep them deep within me.
Just as usual, you wore that blue-tinted robe and went on to walk outside the city (while I am home, taking care of your sword and the miscellany you asked me). Of course, if you ask me before the sun’s up, I’ve gotten everything done, Sir. I made sure that the this palace is untouched — even by tiny dust — I have been an obedient one, Sir, I must be. I’ll never let the rogue crashing on your abode, and the wood will remain polished even when you’re home before dusk.
All so I could hear your words, Sir.
That you’re telling me I’ve done a good job, that you trust me with all your might, and that I’ll always be the right hand of this empire.
Maybe I’ve been stuck in this circle. I failed to recognize the world outside. I refuse to broaden my wings and stayed in this tapestry where my whole life is solely locked. But even I begin to fall in love with this place, Sir. I am just as devoted as you are to your people; I don’t mind dying for the sacrifice of this small town, and so I was gifted with this flame that works like a two-sided knife — lit up my passion for being the hero of this tale, or to burn me down into ashes. They said that it was a blessing in disguise from Her Excellency, only then I beg to differ.
Sir, I am embarrassed — ashamed — to admit that it is not only this place that I fall in love with.
I thought it was the warmth from the city’s spared fireworks, or I have been clumsy enough to leave my cheek burned under the sun. But it was springtime and the sakura bloom appears as soon as you walked into the aisle of your palace; I dreamed of you, in that very place, and waiting for the one you’d trust to run the empire together. You wanted someone loyal, you wanted someone worthy, you wanted someone who goes along with you and your way of handling irony.
It is unfortunate once again, Sir, that albeit my quality, I will never be worthy of you.
I hope you’ll find the one who will stand in the same dignity as you are. Crowned into being the King and Queen of the Empire, making a prosperous future for your people, and protecting the island from the unforgiving, and perhaps, the prophecies written above your name. Even with my soul being tattered, and my pride has worn out like this uniform that I wore, worry not, Sir, I promise by my blood — over the dignity of your bloodline — that my loyalty has no price . I have sold my soul into your existence, though I am bound by my own words.
I’ll be back on my routine now, isn’t it what I shall do, Sir?
