<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/FtVp11q.gif)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Cincia Canisia  (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=286062.msg14079798#msg14079798)<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Freewoman, widow<br/><strong>Date | Time:</strong>August 10  Sometime around the beginning of things<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Exterior garden<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Long tunic of silk<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open.  PM me first.<strong>Mentioned:</strong>None<br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong>General fuckery<hr/><br/>She was never what one could consider a pious woman.  Those who truly knew Cincia knew she held no place in her heart for any of the Gods and Goddesses that so many held dear.  True, she paid them their dues when convenient for her, when a deep part of her clung to some desperate hope of a higher celestial being.  But largely, they were, in her mind, nothing more than the stories told to children.<br/><br/>But though her views on the deities were such as they are, she would play the role of a devout all and get upon her knees in the name of a good fuck.<br/><br/>For the life of her, she could not fathom why anyone would choose to be inside on such a glorious night as was above them.  From her perch upon a garden bench, she could hear the static of conversation, peppered with the occasional scream of devotion.  Why would anyone choose to be sequestered inside?<br/><br/>Perhaps, she thought, her own views had to deal with her own recent feelings.  Being a widow to a man she could not, truly, mourn.  Of being trapped.  Of being walled off and separated, isolated and surrounded at the same time.  And for her mourning period, she had been trapped, had been engulfed in what was expected of a widow of a successful man.<br/><br/>And now that her mourning was over, now that she was free from the last remaining shackle of her listless marriage, she felt as free as the stars above her.  What better way to celebrate her freedom than with a good night of debauchery and fuckery?<br/><br/>All in the name of Bacchanalia, of course.<br/><br/>A sip of her wine came.  Her eyes wandered about the garden, wondering who would be the first to have a conquest of her netheregions.