Your push and your buried rage fire as one muscle, no seam between them. Lilith sits welded to Mars in your chart, so when you move, the anger moves with you, intact, never powdered over with manners, and people feel the teeth in your drive. You do not fight from what is correct. You fight from the part you never house-trained. No asteroid lends you this fury. It is the calculated apogee, and the exiled heat is folded straight into the strike, the two firing along one angle. The watch is simple: not every brush is a war. An edge this honest deserves the real battles, not every passing spark that grazes it.
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