Timestamp: Winter 41, 512 AV
One of her sisters had helped with her attire, combing her hair back with a piece of delicately carved wood before her deft fingers swept around Aislin's raven colored locks, twisting them around her wrist before she pulled the pin from between her teeth and pressed the hair into a bun against the far side of the Chaon's head. The adornment was simple enough, yet it held a grace that seemed to befit the whore- a silver colored clasp upon which a red butterfly had been attached. Its waxen wings hanging limply against its thin black abdomen, shimmering from the lacquer that had been brushed against the surface, the light of flickering candles which cast shadows across its edges. The butterfly seemed to be settling against a tangle of the woman's hair, so delicate that it failed to pinch it all into its proper place. Leaving several strands; held together only by the bonds of brotherhood to trickle down the length of the woman's neck. The frayed edges tickling as it danced across her pale flesh with each of her small movements. But to this, Aislin paid no mind, for she had allowed her back to settle against the far wall of the brothel's entrance room, and her iced irises to dance over the marble floor. The bodies of her own kind, and the potential patrons that ventured into the House of Immortal Pleasures.
The light of the black candles which had been placed about the room in choice locations, shimmied across her skin, casting large portions in shadow, serving to conceal, whilst the rest gave her an otherworldly glow as it caught the oily texture of the lotions she had rubbed into her skin, so she'd smell faintly of lemon and lavender as opposed to the sweat of men she had already taken into her bed. The folds of deep red, silken fabric, pressed lightly against Aislin's skin as the lace only tickled. She felt marginally out of place for once, hiding herself, more on the prowl for someone worthy enough of her to wrench the stench of lesser men from her nostrils; the faint tingling she felt in her fingers from having run the appendages through coarse chest hair, and then something thicker that sprouted from the depths of their ears as she pleasured them with her lips. The hairs had reminded her of flowers from a deep crag within earthen stone, nothing like the roses which had been etched into the lace that lined her short baby doll dress. A "V" which dove between her breasts, revealing her lack of bra as the line continued to run back up the length of her shoulders to form straps. The rest was a simple sweep of silk fabric, which the occasional meshy cut out in wavering lines; meant to mirror the stalks of a rose she supposed, although she couldn't care less what it was meant to be, or not meant to be. The last thin she bore was simply a thong, to match, clearly visible beneath the supple sweep of fabric, which came to an end at the top of her thighs.
Are there no truly beautiful outsiders within Rhysol's city? the whore asked herself as her iced irises scanned the tiles of slick marble, the bar, where several patrons where drinking themselves into a stupor, or perhaps a state of false courage, so that they could soon take the whores that giggled and dangled from their arms to bed. And fail to return any worthwhile pleasure that they were handed when coins of silver and gold trickled between the spaces that lurked against the insides of each of their fingers. Such a pity that his hand managed to gather us all, Aislin thought with a sigh as she allowed herself to recede further into a bed of shadow. A thin veil of grey, that need only have been pulled back by the deft and proper hands...
OOCSorry my openings tend to be a bit lackluster.
Also: please note this thread is of mature content. Thank you!
One of her sisters had helped with her attire, combing her hair back with a piece of delicately carved wood before her deft fingers swept around Aislin's raven colored locks, twisting them around her wrist before she pulled the pin from between her teeth and pressed the hair into a bun against the far side of the Chaon's head. The adornment was simple enough, yet it held a grace that seemed to befit the whore- a silver colored clasp upon which a red butterfly had been attached. Its waxen wings hanging limply against its thin black abdomen, shimmering from the lacquer that had been brushed against the surface, the light of flickering candles which cast shadows across its edges. The butterfly seemed to be settling against a tangle of the woman's hair, so delicate that it failed to pinch it all into its proper place. Leaving several strands; held together only by the bonds of brotherhood to trickle down the length of the woman's neck. The frayed edges tickling as it danced across her pale flesh with each of her small movements. But to this, Aislin paid no mind, for she had allowed her back to settle against the far wall of the brothel's entrance room, and her iced irises to dance over the marble floor. The bodies of her own kind, and the potential patrons that ventured into the House of Immortal Pleasures.
The light of the black candles which had been placed about the room in choice locations, shimmied across her skin, casting large portions in shadow, serving to conceal, whilst the rest gave her an otherworldly glow as it caught the oily texture of the lotions she had rubbed into her skin, so she'd smell faintly of lemon and lavender as opposed to the sweat of men she had already taken into her bed. The folds of deep red, silken fabric, pressed lightly against Aislin's skin as the lace only tickled. She felt marginally out of place for once, hiding herself, more on the prowl for someone worthy enough of her to wrench the stench of lesser men from her nostrils; the faint tingling she felt in her fingers from having run the appendages through coarse chest hair, and then something thicker that sprouted from the depths of their ears as she pleasured them with her lips. The hairs had reminded her of flowers from a deep crag within earthen stone, nothing like the roses which had been etched into the lace that lined her short baby doll dress. A "V" which dove between her breasts, revealing her lack of bra as the line continued to run back up the length of her shoulders to form straps. The rest was a simple sweep of silk fabric, which the occasional meshy cut out in wavering lines; meant to mirror the stalks of a rose she supposed, although she couldn't care less what it was meant to be, or not meant to be. The last thin she bore was simply a thong, to match, clearly visible beneath the supple sweep of fabric, which came to an end at the top of her thighs.
Are there no truly beautiful outsiders within Rhysol's city? the whore asked herself as her iced irises scanned the tiles of slick marble, the bar, where several patrons where drinking themselves into a stupor, or perhaps a state of false courage, so that they could soon take the whores that giggled and dangled from their arms to bed. And fail to return any worthwhile pleasure that they were handed when coins of silver and gold trickled between the spaces that lurked against the insides of each of their fingers. Such a pity that his hand managed to gather us all, Aislin thought with a sigh as she allowed herself to recede further into a bed of shadow. A thin veil of grey, that need only have been pulled back by the deft and proper hands...
OOCSorry my openings tend to be a bit lackluster.
Also: please note this thread is of mature content. Thank you!
