opulence is the end; open
[ To say the least of it, this is not what Giulia had planned to do today. Getting out of bed the days Rodrigo visited her was usually a luxurious thing. Curled up with the Pope of Rome, talking of politics and his family.
It might of been immoral, but it was better than starving in poverty.
This morning had been one such morning, where half dressed in her underthings, she had made her way out of room to pick out her dress for the day to find herself standing on the side of the street.
A street she had never seen before. No street of Rome looked anything like this, not in Umbria, Forli, she doubted even France looked like this. Her stockinged feet were bare and cold on the concrete ground, and the robe that so barely covered her otherwise naked body was clutched tighter to her. The people passing her by stared, of course they were stare, or so she reasoned to herself, she was a beautiful woman, and she was mostly naked.
Heavenly Father, had she died? Had she died so quickly that she barely even felt it to be dropped here with such lacking dignity? Well nothing for it, she cleared her throat and lifted her head like this was the most normal thing that had ever happened to her. The waist length hair pulled over her shoulders to give herself that little bit more modesty. Godiva had worn less after all, and panicking would get her no where.
Someone in this place ought to be able to tell a lady at the very least where to find decent clothes. ]