Serving me should be muscle memory. A ritual. A reflex. Each morning starts the same: your fingers tremble, your wallet opens and you pay. Before your eyes even focus. Before your coffee pours. Your devotion comes first. Always.
This isn’t a choice. It’s a conditioning. Your Spoil Routine tribute is the price of waking up in my world. Coffee doesn’t pour itself… and neither does your worship. The steam from your cup will rise… but my control rises higher. Your morning belongs to me. Fund it.