She is a girl who walks the streets, and yet she has the manner of much higher birth.
Her words are chosen carefully, and from an expansive vocabulary unusual for any womanof these times…
let alone a harlot.
Her tone and indeed her very being is soft, yielding and beguiling…
lacking the harshness and hardness of other women of the streets.

She has a consciousness of self and a pride in the way she carries herself uncustomary for street whores.
Her cheeks have been known to blush,
her hazel green eyes to sparkle,
and her full, kissable lips, one of her most expressive assets, known to curve into a rare but genuine smile,
offset by the dimples which crease into her ivory cheeks.

There is the pain of loss etched into her heart,
and the strength that comes from continuing to live despite adversity,
yet few of her clients are able to perceive anything past the sultry facade she constructs to maintain their fantasy.

She makes her living knowing the pleasure of men.
It is not a choice she would have made, but she makes no apologies for it.
Rather, she treats it with a dry sense of humour as she quips and verbally parries
in a voice clipped with the hint of a subtle Eastern-European accent.

It may not be by choice, but she makes her living well,
as evidenced by the relative fineness of her garments, the soft scent of roses and jasmine which rises from her skin,
and the neatly combed tendrils of mahogany waves that cascade over her shoulders,
framing her face and contrasting with the paleness of her skin.

She is a girl of 25, and no more than a girl.
She has no powers, no defence other than her intellect and the passing gentleman ... or lady...
willing to assist in her times of need.
She is vaguely contemptuous of the law,
unfounded faith, and those who uphold those things,
instead trusting to the natural law of the universe.

Not that there have been many times of need, in the past few years.
She makes sure of that, no longer so willing to be reliant upon another.