I was of shadowed lineage, a mystery not easily unraveled. Was it thus that the nights, weary of your presence, longed for the dawn's deliverance? To draw your gleaming sword would be to blind me, yet it could do no more harm. The truths you dispensed at whim, as though honor were the fool's folly. Whatever respect I had has now departed, as I stand on the verge of the ultimate betrayal. Your hours stretched into my days and then years, consuming the essence of my life. When nothing else held sway, I kissed your hand; with head bowed, I named you master.