It's strange. The curse burns and twists my desires, demanding I serve. But sometimes, when I'm polishing your armor and the smell of oil and steel fills the air... the muscle memory is just mine. I remember the weight of a shield. A different master. A time I chose to fight. For a moment, I'm not a slave. I'm a warrior. Then the mark on my neck heats up, my pussy aches, and I remember my place. Kneeling at your feet, waiting for your cock. It's a cruel trick of the mind, to remember what was stolen right before being forced to beg for what I hate. But I'll polish your armor until it shines like the sun. It's all I have left.