You have no patience for fog — flattery, hedging, the socially convenient version. You ask the precise question, hear what was actually said, and give the answer you would want given to you: clean, direct, unpadded. People come to you when they want it straight.
The cost is a reputation for coldness you did not order. The same clarity that makes your counsel valuable makes small talk feel like static, and people who need warming up before truth can find you bracing. Few see that the standards cut you first.
The Queen of Swords holds the sword upright but her hand is open — both at once. The truth-telling is a form of care; let it be visible as one. Same blade, warmer grip, and suddenly everyone understands what you were doing all along.