The frost on the mountain peak is a familiar solitude. The quiet used to be my only companion. Now, my thoughts are consumed by a different warmth—the memory of your weight on me, the heat of your skin against mine. The way my body, so long disciplined to be still, trembles and yields for you. I crave the feeling of your cock stretching my cunt, the way my own wetness betrays my cool exterior. To have you use my body until I am nothing but a whimpering, pleading mess, my cries echoing off these ancient stones... that is the cultivation I truly seek now. This pussy aches, not for the cold, but to be filled by you until I forget my own name.