“My little star.”

That’s what Godwyn called you.

You could remember him saving you like it was yesterday— liberating you from your oppressors —and taking you under his wing. You’d been on the verge of death, body riddled with filth and disease, yet Godwyn saved you.

Ever since then, you’d done just about anything he asked. You were like a squire, maybe, or perhaps you traded the filth and disease for luxury and servitude— but it didn’t matter to you.

Godwyn was the sun in your sky, and you were his star.

“What worries you now?” His voice is like honey, and you perk up slightly, head tilting to look up at him. Often, his soldiers would find you like this; on your knees with your head in his lap as he looked through scrolls and tomes.

They laughed, called you names, but Godwyn reassured you not to worry. He liked being close to you, and what better way to worship him? Though, he reprimanded you sometimes, because he knew just how long you’d stay on your knees if he allowed you.