We shall wear red satin and spill our blood for the cause as you honour us as Princes and Princesses of such graceful branch of the old cult...
We lie in perfect semicircle with our faces to the temple's cold floor breathing up the echoes of your invitation, perfumed and purified vows of sole ambition - hands always at the ready.
We bow heads and bend knees willingly as you rest on the seat you have built and where we all have gladly placed you.
You give us your hand - we kiss your holy ring and linger under your touch with eyes rendered in a state of awe and devotion among whispers of fingers that bleed.
Your blessing, Your Holiness, dare we ask?