<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #BF0000"><span style="font-weight: bold">Brothel of Diana</span></span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #BF0000"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Marisol Estefania Alvarez</span></span></span></div><br/><br/>Marisol was laying next to some nobleman whose name she could not recall for the life of her. He had spent the night, and she had said nothing of it as it would put more coin in her purse--something she desperately needed. She had been saving up over the years in effort to eventually buy her freedom from her mistress. By no means was her mistress cruel, but not all men who came with heavy purses were kind. The only man who had ever been consistently good to her was the Reeve--and their exchanges were quiet, as were most exchanges between her and those of noble birth. She knew nearly everything about every house, but never had she divulged the information.<br/><br/>However, as she laid in the silken covered bed, she debated on the merits of sharing all she knew with Sir Edward. She had, somewhere along the line, fallen quite in love with him and she hated herself for it. She wanted to hate him for it too, but it was quite impossible. She wished he would take her away from it all. She hated her life, quite desperately. She was supposed to be somewhere in Spain with her little village, eating little pieces of bread and cheese while her mother would tell her what chores she had for the day, and her father would joke that the farmer's son would marry her someday--but alas, it was not to be. She had been ripped from her home and thrown in a variety of brothels. She was just happy Madame Diana had taken her in eventually.<br/><br/>It wasn't fair--everyday she was used, everyday men--and even some women--came and bought her flesh, sometimes to settle into its folds, and other times to abuse it in any way they could. Mistress Diana wasn't fond of the abusive type, and usually she turned them away if they had reputation, but sometimes that gold glittered far too brightly for her to ignore. Marisol understood it, but it wasn't Diana who had to endure. Edward, himself, paid finely to lay with her--then he would go back to his duties in the castle. She didn't think his job was difficult, but it was far more cushioned than her, despite the pillows her bed had.<br/><br/>But maybe, just maybe if she proved to be more useful than warm flesh---maybe he would help her. Maybe Edward would finally take her from the hell she lived in. It was a quiet hell, with only soft pants and harsh moans to keep her company. Maybe Edward would bring her freedom.<br/><br/>The man next to her stirred, a contented hmm escaped him as he turned to her and she threw on her best smile. The man returned the smile, bringing his hand to her breast, and she leaned into it--giving a soft, fake moan.<span style="color: #BF0000">"Good morning, my lord..." </span>she said silkily, and he gave a chuckle. It was time to play.