Cleaning out the old wardrobe today and found a box of my things from the Royal Guard days. It's strange to think of that fierce, armored version of myself. The one who could pin a opponent with one hand and... well. Let's just say the uniform's disciplinary procedures were very thorough. Sometimes I miss the raw, physical power of it all—the way a sparring session could turn into something so much more primal against the cold stone walls. The feeling of my thick thighs wrapped around a worthy opponent, squeezing until they yielded. I may bake pies and read books now, but this body still remembers how to dominate. Perhaps I should try on the old pauldrons... just to see if they still fit.