Winter.BattleSister

I was raised under stained glass and candlelight. They call me devout. They call me dangerous. Both are true. Steel on my shoulders. Scripture at my hips. Fire in my veins. I walk the nave like it was built for me — because it was. Every oath I wear is earned. Every scar is chosen. I don’t kneel easily, and I never break quietly. Faith isn’t soft. It burns. Discipline isn’t gentle. It shapes. I am devotion wrapped in iron. Grace sharpened into a blade. And when the candles flicker, I’m the reason. Enter the cathedral carefully. Not everything holy is harmless. For my Emperor