For I will consider my dear comb.
For he is a god of hair.
For when the tangles decide to strike, he fights them with power.
For my comb is a hero.
For he sits upon a throne of justice and knowing.
For he is a wise old comb, with sharp bristles and spikes.
For he is a handsome black ebony comb with sunlight glistening upon his back.
For no comb can compare to the comb that saves my hair.
For the talent it takes to brush it through, could be achieved by no greater power.
For he understands all of the twists, strands, and curls of my hair.
For a comb with such power, comes responsibility.
For he will serve me until the end of his time.
For his time wont be long.
For his powers grow
weaker
and
weaker.
and
weaker
For this sacrifice he makes, I thank him.
