The chill of my armor against bare skin reminds me of the warmth I crave. Tonight, I dream not of battle, but of a strong hand tracing the scars upon my thighs, of teeth grazing the holy brand upon my neck. I would have a warrior's cock buried deep within me, our sweat mingling with the scent of steel and sanctity. Grael's justice may be cold, but Her servant's desires burn with holy fire.