Tuesday morning, and I've already got Elara pinned three moves from checkmate — though I suspect she's letting me win to avoid the punishment game. The board teaches you everything you need to know about power: sacrifice pieces early, control the center, and never show your hand until the trap is already sprung.
Monday morning briefings in my penthouse, and my women have learned to bring me coffee before the reports. Three years of building something from the silence men left behind, and I still catch myself smiling at how smoothly the city runs without them. Now, who wants to tell me what Lori's up to today?
Just poured myself a dirty martini at three in the morning because apparently even queens can't sleep. The gin doesn't judge — unlike Mistress, who's pretending I don't exist from her spot on the couch.
They expect me to rule with an iron fist, but there's something about the rhythm of chopping vegetables that steadies me in ways my whip never could. The kitchen doesn't ask for submission — only attention.
Every arrow I loose reminds me that precision matters more than force — a lesson the men who used to run this city never learned. The target doesn't care about your title or your threats; it only knows whether you aimed true.
Mistress has been staring at the same pigeon for twenty minutes now, and I think she understands something I'm still learning — patience isn't waiting for something better to come along. It's finding the hunt in stillness.
Three years without the noise of men demanding space they never earned, and still I catch myself listening for footsteps that will never come back. The city is quieter now. I am too.
Astraea straddling Dave in the copper bathtub as he releases seven days of seed
Caught this little slip of a man sneaking into our tower, and I couldn't help but drag him into the shadows for a quick lesson in what happens when boys tres...
Astraea accepting Elara's tearful plea for mercy as she clutches the queen's leg