Pilum Muralis

One of my alter egos. The defender at the gate. She does not ask permission — she holds the line. Forged in silence and tempered by betrayal, she speaks little, but when she writes, her words strike like weapons. She is the hand that records what others fear to name. Cold, if needed. Ruthless, if just. She writes not for comfort, but for clarity — not to be liked, but to leave a mark. She was never meant to please — only to protect what matters, with ink as sharp as any blade.