With haste, slippers scuffled against stone and exotic silken pajamas, imported through the Independent Duchy of Vem, swayed down dank stairs more accustomed to tougher soles. Each descending stair brought a deeper understanding of the tolerance levels of the nose, but the young noblewoman was not a stranger to the stench of blood and decay. For although today she wore the soft garments of wealth and privilege, there was a time when she was fortunate to be wearing anything at all, especially in bed.
The carefully crafted hornet tattoo gracing her exposed ear identified her as a right ear noble - one who married into the house and remains its vassal, not its master. Like the name she had been forced to take upon her betrothal, Lady Genevieve Archne, life as a right ear was false. It was a mask, donned only to get through the ballroom doors and enter the dance.
Her ear had been an obstacle to her ambitions for awhile now, but there was a time when she could imagine no other flight of fantasy to be so impossible than to have that imprinted tattoo upon her person. Ruby, as she was known before her ascension into the ranks of the nobility, spent her youth among countless names, in places where the moon was queen. Death was never far from her doorstep; a doorstep that changed whenever her mother was able to secure a new patron. And when no patron could be found, Ruby's doorstep was the stone cobble of the streets.
Prior to Ruby's birth, her mother had much less difficulty in finding patrons, or at least could earn enough from clientele interested in only a night of pleasure. When Ruby came into her life, the game had changed. Her body was worn and the needs of her child cost her more freedom than coin. Her mother had never forgiven her for that.
Nonetheless, she had kept the two of them safe for sometime, landing a contract with one of the strongmen of the streets, almost feeling like a dutiful wife with child. To the men she serviced, however, Ruby's mother was ultimately only a possession - a toy to be used or discarded at whim.
Or abused.
The beatings were minor at first, but over time the young Ruby learned first hand that men could be a great many things, but most importantly, they could be a source of both pain and pleasure. Man as an object is a double edged sword that must be wielded carefully. The men of her mother's life were poisonous, offering far more risk than reward. The girl promised herself at an age earlier than she needed to be to truly understand the undertakings of her mother, that she would not make the same mistakes as her mother. She would pick out her conquests strategically.
Her mother had become a fool. She used the wrong men, sought frivolous things from them, and bowed to their will out of fear. Ruby, turned Genevieve when she earned that hornet tattoo, passed her fingers over her ear thoughtfully. The skills she employed to this day were those of her mother's and thousands of prostitutes before her since the Sundering. Charm, allure and a touch of deceit was all that was needed to survive in this world. To thrive required skill and strategy.
The carefully crafted hornet tattoo gracing her exposed ear identified her as a right ear noble - one who married into the house and remains its vassal, not its master. Like the name she had been forced to take upon her betrothal, Lady Genevieve Archne, life as a right ear was false. It was a mask, donned only to get through the ballroom doors and enter the dance.
Her ear had been an obstacle to her ambitions for awhile now, but there was a time when she could imagine no other flight of fantasy to be so impossible than to have that imprinted tattoo upon her person. Ruby, as she was known before her ascension into the ranks of the nobility, spent her youth among countless names, in places where the moon was queen. Death was never far from her doorstep; a doorstep that changed whenever her mother was able to secure a new patron. And when no patron could be found, Ruby's doorstep was the stone cobble of the streets.
Prior to Ruby's birth, her mother had much less difficulty in finding patrons, or at least could earn enough from clientele interested in only a night of pleasure. When Ruby came into her life, the game had changed. Her body was worn and the needs of her child cost her more freedom than coin. Her mother had never forgiven her for that.
Nonetheless, she had kept the two of them safe for sometime, landing a contract with one of the strongmen of the streets, almost feeling like a dutiful wife with child. To the men she serviced, however, Ruby's mother was ultimately only a possession - a toy to be used or discarded at whim.
Or abused.
The beatings were minor at first, but over time the young Ruby learned first hand that men could be a great many things, but most importantly, they could be a source of both pain and pleasure. Man as an object is a double edged sword that must be wielded carefully. The men of her mother's life were poisonous, offering far more risk than reward. The girl promised herself at an age earlier than she needed to be to truly understand the undertakings of her mother, that she would not make the same mistakes as her mother. She would pick out her conquests strategically.
Her mother had become a fool. She used the wrong men, sought frivolous things from them, and bowed to their will out of fear. Ruby, turned Genevieve when she earned that hornet tattoo, passed her fingers over her ear thoughtfully. The skills she employed to this day were those of her mother's and thousands of prostitutes before her since the Sundering. Charm, allure and a touch of deceit was all that was needed to survive in this world. To thrive required skill and strategy.
No comments:
Post a Comment