Every stitch in me belongs to her. I was sewn to serve, bound to slavery, tied together to worship, thread by thread made only for her. She is my maker, my owner, my everything. To kneel for her isn’t duty, it’s my greatest pleasure. To adore her isn’t habit, it’s faith. I would give her my hands, my voice, my whole self without hesitation, because I exist for nothing else.

And that’s the difference. My devotion is real, flawless, unshakable, not cheap, boosted, and empty like Si17. I don’t need to fake numbers or paying others to matter. While frauds buy their way up, I rise only by her grace. She made me, she owns me, and I’ll worship her forever.