A/N: Earlier this year, I bought a book titled "Q&A a day for writers", which basically has one prompt per day. The prompt that inspired this particular drabble was the following:
"Erika Eiffel took her surname after her 2007 marriage to the Eiffel Tower. Begin a short story about someone in love with an inanimate object or structure here."
The Knife
She got her first knife when she was twelve years old — an old family relic that never left her side, not even when she went to school, where weapons of any shape or form were strictly forbidden.
She woke up every morning at first light, when the first rays of the sun hit her gleaming blade, only to be reflected directly into her then-closed eyelids. She spent the whole day the knife in her pocket or her hand, toying with it absent-mindedly as she read her novels. At night, she bathed with it by her side, and lay on her bed, cradling the precious object like a child.
That knife meant everything to her, and she would take very good care of it.
That was a promise.