At my young age, my body looked very mature.
The years had been kind to me in that regard, granting me a form that was far beyond my Amazon years.
My breasts were ripe and full enough to steal people's husbands, my curves and shape were enough that I could lie to be mid twenties and get away with it.
It was a power that I had never fully understood until that moment, a weapon that I had never considered wielding.
Plus, I was in my nightly garments which were sheer, so only a woman would not become aroused by such a body.
The thin fabric did little to conceal what was beneath, and I knew that the sight of me in that state would be enough to turn any man's head.
It was a dangerous thought, but I could not shake it.
And an idea came to me sharply, cutting through the fog of my anger like a blade:
I... would steal the men from mother and make her feel the absence she made Deva and I feel, as she falls from grace.
I would take from her what she had taken from us.
