[ In the summer women are sent to the sea to refrain their senses.
That's why the brothel was always busiest during the hottest time of the year. She remembers her patrons smugly claiming their wives were hysterical and would be momentarily cured by the smell of salt and crashing of waves. And in that voice that they loved, Rose would remark she'd never seen the ocean.
Zero's room is dark. It had been decorated in a fashion that her husband and master (as the vows had called him— she had of course been sedated by magic and medicine both to get through the ceremony) had deemed suitable for a bride and tool of her status and stature. It mirrored her suite in his main home— a castle passed down from tyrant to tyrant, the very same girls her age had once dreamed of visiting, hoping to be saved from their miseries by becoming a courtesan to someone who mattered. The only difference between this room and that one was the sea breeze and distant sounds of waves crashing against cliff and sand.
Zero sits underneath the canopy of her bed, covers drawn over her head like a silk tent. The smell of herbs and smoke pervade through the room and the earthy smoke is already billowing up toward the vaulted ceiling.
She's been at this for while, when her watchdog and designated companion enters the room. She's not supposed to be doing this, but she doesn't seem to care. After all, what was the worst she could do? Tell her mother?
Of all of the king's advisors that woman was the most unsavory. All of this had been her idea after all— that man otherwise wouldn't have the gall or brainpower to trap her like this. ]
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That's why the brothel was always busiest during the hottest time of the year. She remembers her patrons smugly claiming their wives were hysterical and would be momentarily cured by the smell of salt and crashing of waves. And in that voice that they loved, Rose would remark she'd never seen the ocean.
Zero's room is dark. It had been decorated in a fashion that her husband and master (as the vows had called him— she had of course been sedated by magic and medicine both to get through the ceremony) had deemed suitable for a bride and tool of her status and stature. It mirrored her suite in his main home— a castle passed down from tyrant to tyrant, the very same girls her age had once dreamed of visiting, hoping to be saved from their miseries by becoming a courtesan to someone who mattered. The only difference between this room and that one was the sea breeze and distant sounds of waves crashing against cliff and sand.
Zero sits underneath the canopy of her bed, covers drawn over her head like a silk tent. The smell of herbs and smoke pervade through the room and the earthy smoke is already billowing up toward the vaulted ceiling.
She's been at this for while, when her watchdog and designated companion enters the room. She's not supposed to be doing this, but she doesn't seem to care. After all, what was the worst she could do? Tell her mother?
Of all of the king's advisors that woman was the most unsavory. All of this had been her idea after all— that man otherwise wouldn't have the gall or brainpower to trap her like this. ]