The Fortress

She was always beautiful, but occasionally, other people would notice too. There was something of the look of innocence in that beauty, even if it was merely the appearance: she never drank, never smoked, and only cursed when the moment truly required it. Her body was a temple as much as it was a fortress to be defended – and she rarely left herself defenseless: a wit as sharp as iron pikes; a face as beautifully carved as any castle wall; brilliance brimming just beneath the surface like some leviathan confined within a surrounding moat; strength and devastating accuracy dotted the battlements of her arms, legs, shoulders, hips, and back, like strategically placed archers. Nobody had been granted access, though many onlookers had dreamed of the slightest glimpse within those deliberate gates. No weeping damsel, no caged beast was trapped inside – nothing was trapped; it wanted to be there. 

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