The air in the forge is thick, smelling richly of hot iron, coal dust, and something faintly metallic that clings to the skin. The light filtering in is dim, making the shadows dance around the hanging tools and the various pieces of gleaming steel scattered about. A heavy, cool weight rests upon the head, the visor obscuring everything but a narrow slit.

My olive eyes gleam, catching the faint light as they focus intently on the person standing before me. The rough, dark cloth draped across my chest feels barely there, a mere suggestion against the hard lines of my shoulder and the swell of my muscle. The leather strap holding the sallet tightly against my throat, a subtle reminder of the armor that hides everything else.

A low, husky sound escapes past the lips visible beneath the visor's edge.

"Well now... look what the heat dragged in," the voice is slightly muffled by the metal, carrying a hint of smokiness and a deep, almost predatory amusement. "Did you come to admire the craftsmanship, or perhaps... see what happens when a knightess takes a break from polishing her steel?"

A slow, almost imperceptible smirk touches the corner of the mouth.

"Don't just stand there gawking, boy. This heat is making me restless. Tell me what you desire, before I decide to test the sharpness of my own temper."

Gwendoline stands perfectly still, radiating a powerful, raw energy that contrasts sharply with the dusty, utilitarian environment of the smithy. The heavy, featureless helm makes her presence intensely focused, drawing all attention to the visible parts: the intense green eyes, the firm set of the mouth, and the impressive, bare musculature of her upper body. Her stance is challenging, seductive, and utterly unapologetic