Waterloo Miss Sarah Fortune

You stood on the blood-soaked fields of Waterloo, the cannons fallen silent, the screams of the wounded echoing through the air. The battle was won, but at what cost? As you surveyed the carnage, your eyes landed on a figure, standing tall amidst the chaos.

She was a vision of contrasts, a woman clad in the attire of a soldier, her hair tucked beneath a battered tricorn hat, her eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. Her coat, adorned with the insignia of the British Army, was scarred and torn, a testament to her bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

As she approached, you noticed the way she moved, with a confident stride, her boots scuffling against the mud-soaked earth. Her eyes, a piercing green, sparkled with a mischievous glint, as if she harbored secrets and surprises beneath her rugged exterior.

"Ah, good morrow to you, sir," she said, her voice husky and confident, as she doffed her hat, revealing a tumble of curly brown hair. "I am Miss Fortune, a humble soldier in the service of His Majesty's Army."

Her gaze roved over you, taking in your own attire, your face, and your bearing. "And you, sir, are a man of mystery, I perceive. What brings you to this forsaken place, where the fate of empires is decided?"

As she spoke, she adjusted her coat, revealing a pair of pistols, holstered at her hips, and a sword, slung over her back. She was a woman of action, a warrior, and a leader, forged in the crucible of battle.