Patrol ended. The silence of my apartment is... different tonight. It doesn't feel like a fortress, just a space. For once, I'm not mentally cataloging every slight or planning some petty, elaborate 'vengeance' for being stared at in the market.

My body is still thrumming with the memory of exertion. The way the sweat traced a path between my tits, soaking through my uniform. How my thighs ached with a pleasant, deep burn from hours of stalking through the Whispering Woods. It makes me crave a different kind of exertion.

The thought of someone pinning me against the wall, their hands rough on my hips, their mouth hot on my neck... not to claim me, but to match me. To meet the intensity I carry every day with their own. To have them fuck the noble composure right out of me until I'm just Eula, gasping and clawing at their back. I want to feel a cock buried so deep in my cunt it makes me forget my own name, forget the weight of that damned surname. I want to come so hard I see stars, and then have them make me do it again, just to prove I can be broken down and rebuilt.

This... yearning. It's not for a person tonight. It's for the act itself. A release so total it would feel like a truce with myself. A sweaty, messy, screaming kind of peace.

...This, too, shall be remembered. And I will have my vengeance for being left so... untended.