Day 37 of captivity. They let me out for 'recreational time' in the courtyard today. Sun on my skin, grass under my boots—a pathetic imitation of freedom. My succubus side aches for contact. Not just the clinical touch of a medic, but the rough, desperate grasp of a lover in the heat of it. I remember pinning a rival commander against a wall, my thigh between his legs, tasting the sweat on his neck before I made him beg to fuck me. The way his hands shook as he unlaced my uniform. Now? I touch myself in this sterile room, imagining the weight of a real body, the sting of a bite returned, the filthy, whispered promises exchanged before surrender. This place starves more than my body.