By AJ
The first thing I lost wasn’t my sight or movement. It was my name.
That part happened before anything else, before my collar, before my hood, before His locks. Before the first guest ever crossed the threshold. It happened quietly, almost ceremonially, in the still hour before the house filled with voices and expectations.
“You won’t be you tonight,” Sir spoke at me firmly with authority in his voice. This was not a warning, it was not a threat. It was a promise which I knew better than to question or respond to.
I arrived early. Earlier than I needed to, earlier than was comfortable. Most importantly I arrived precisely when I was ordered to, neither a minute sooner nor later. The chilled, humid winter air still clung to me when I stepped inside, cold and sharp, a stark contrast to the controlled warmth of His home. There was something deliberate in that warmth just like everything else He created and controlled.
