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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Rosalina watched the festival from the balcony of her finest bordello. A crimson glass rested between gloved fingers.

It wasn't a new sight for her. The celebration. Coloured by the swirl of red wine across painted lips and lit by frantic fireworks cracking and sparking above, the people cried out, and danced. They danced like demons around Devil's coattails. Exotic dresses hemmed with gems instead of lace, exposed breasts disguised by an artists brush, and jaded costumes of long dead gods of the grapevine. All flung together in a wild passionate dance.

Rosalina wished she could remember the story behind this festival. Wished she could remember why these people, long since sworn to the one, could sing and spin in such blasphemous delight. Could forget about their religious promises, their moral compass, their history, and their woes and just dance. Dance like they used to so long ago.

Voices rose in shrieks of wild delight, shrill laughter, and hungry growls of pleasure. Skirts spun, flipped, and tore. Lips met. Fingers slid along heaving skin.

It was only on nights such as this that she could start to remember. Her fingers would prickle, breath shiver, and powers begin to return. Never for long enough to recall. Never quite long enough to remember. But enough to know, for one night at least, that she was once more than a dressed up whore. She was once... brow puckered... she was once something big. Something feared. Something loved. She was once... a goddess. A goddess Aphro...

But men were calling. Calling for their favorite.

Rosalina finished her wine, coughed, and left the festival, worship, and memories behind.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Rosalina watched the festival from the balcony of her finest bordello. A crimson glass rested between gloved fingers.

It wasn't a new sight for her. The celebration. Coloured by the swirl of red wine across painted lips and lit by frantic fireworks cracking and sparking above, the people cried out, and danced. They danced like demons around Devil's coattails. Exotic dresses hemmed with gems instead of lace, exposed breasts disguised by an artists brush, and jaded costumes of long dead gods of the grapevine. All flung together in a wild passionate dance.

Rosalina wished she could remember the story behind this festival. Wished she could remember why these people, long since sworn to the one, could sing and spin in such blasphemous delight. Could forget about their religious promises, their moral compass, their history, and their woes and just dance. Dance like they used to so long ago.

Voices rose in shrieks of wild delight, shrill laughter, and hungry growls of pleasure. Skirts spun, flipped, and tore. Lips met. Fingers slid along heaving skin.

It was only on nights such as this that she could start to remember. Her fingers would prickle, breath shiver, and powers begin to return. Never for long enough to recall. Never quite long enough to remember. But enough to know, for one night at least, that she was once more than a dressed up whore. She was once... brow puckered... she was once something big. Something feared. Something loved. She was once... a goddess. A goddess Aphro...

But men were calling. Calling for their favorite.

Rosalina finished her wine, coughed, and left the festival, worship, and memories behind.