"Let's Get You Warmed Up, Love..." (Patreon)

     You've been through hell again. You're battered, bloody, hungry, and smell like a bog; your rations and supplies have all been supplanted by treasures and spoils of war, and just around the bend you see the two familiar lamps at the back of her wagon.

     "Gypsy". "Nomad". "Swindler". Many things she's called, many more unflattering, some cruel, but to you she's a candle in the dark. She's food, she's comfort, she's warmth, she's pleasure...in this oily, murky hellscape, she's your only support. She maybe love, she may not be, but she's the best you've got.

     But then, you're not in it for the treasure, to be a hero, because you must, or any such thing. You're in it because this is what you want, your passion...violence. Given direction and a cause is merely an excuse to lift the guilt; and if slipping some of your coin to her makes your passion possible, is she not love?

     Who knows.