The Curse of Maiden Scars by Nicolette Croft

Author:Nicolette Croft [Croft, Nicolette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Historium Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Temptress

Light Attributes: Erotic feminine energy

Shadow Attributes: Inappropriate use of sexuality,

attachment to money and power

M

y life rapidly shifted over the next six weeks, leaving little space to remember my time in York. After Mother revealed her agenda, outlining my worth as sellable goods and the primary breadwinner in the household, I was introduced to various men. Culls ranging from young to old, foreign to Italian-born, were all interested in tasting the English Bird with the fair skin. At first, I was devastated that the whoring life I’d sought to escape in York eventually caught me in Venice. When I said I wanted more, being a high-class whore was not what I meant. I had wished for the freedom to choose my life, not live under the blows of a devious madame.

My first few nights of whoring left me ashamed unless dulled. After each encounter, Mother demanded I drink a concoction she swore staved off pregnancy. It left me feeling ill, but nothing like my childhood ailments. As my resentment grew, so did my consumption of laudanum and wine. It wasn’t until I met a common street whore at the local bordello, riddled with pocks and barking sputum from consumptive fits—only four months younger than me—that I reluctantly warmed to Mother’s tutelage. If I couldn’t govern my desires at the time, I could at least learn about the world around me.

Alistair was a regular companion. Occasionally, Mother allowed me to practice on him. He ran a print shop in the Ghetto and regularly gifted works of history, fiction, and sex. He was the Minster priest’s counterpart in every way, although he knew me carnally in a way the priest only dreamt. I thought the Minster priest would have progressed quite well in Venice. For in a brief time there, I learned how lust exposed itself behind every curtain, including liturgical ones.

Tucked in the protective cocoon of my canopied bed, illuminated by a single candle’s light, my novel enraptured me—the story of an English country girl becoming a maid and eventually a courtesan—John Cleland’s Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. I compared the allegory to my adventures and hoped my life wasn’t a foregone conclusion like this tale by a licentious male author.

“Serenna.” I heard my name called from the kitchen below. Although Mother said I needed my rest, she had limits and would not tolerate perceived laziness. Besides, it was my birthday, and I hoped I’d have something special from my friends.

Snatching aside the linen curtains that muted the midday sun, a stream of light shined onto my satin pillow. I squeezed my eyes against it but reveled in the sun’s energy. The Venice light made sunbeams glow like a God’s Light from a Tintoretto fresco. A breeze ruffled Francese’s feathers as he rested in his cage. Dust particles swirled together, and the room was dappled by lavender and coral hews. The sun warmed the floor stones, intensified the floral scents, and refreshed the crisp bed linens' aroma. The temperature change did the trick to awaken my senses.

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