The Dark Era GPSL

Such a strange day. It's been hard and Letitia sets her own feelings and faults aside. She needs a distraction and her distraction is usually the twins. That's what she calls them, knowing they aren't twins at all, or even brother and sister. They might as well be. Their connection is just as strong.

There are very few that Letitia allows herself to care for. She's usually so good at separating what she needs to do and what she shouldn't do but sometimes emotions bake. Love is something that often just happens. There's no stopping it. It's a large, unwieldy force and to try to control it is to have it destroy everything.

That's how it had been with Rebekah and Miles when she found them in the snow. It had been love at first sight. She had wanted to protect them, unaware that some magic might be an influencing factor. It didn't matter. She didn't care if there was. They were an anchor. A reason to keep going.

Out from the carriage she jumps, not waiting for Drew as she hurries into the Wytchwood and up the grand staircase of the whorehouse. When she gets to Rebekah's room she doesn't even knock. She just hurls open the door and tarries in, worried and excited to hear how it went, to make sure that she is alright.

"Are you alright?" She looks around the room to find her, "I would have been here sooner but I got caught up."

After Fletcher had come to claim the little girl she'd found, Letitia was put in a rare moment of seriousness in public. Her brow crinkled, fingers brushing her chin as she staved off the impulse to go into the room and tell Fletcher he better behave like a gentleman. It was out of her hands now. She'd been the one to push her to this point...and in her mind, sincerely, she didn't see any other way to be for a girl like Rebekah. Women only had a few things to work within this society dominated by men, and this was one way for them to have power, money, and any hope of a semblance of independence.

If Letitia didn't believe in this life, she would have never pushed so hard. It still didn't stop her from worrying. Rebekah was so...unused. It would be easy for anyone to take advantage.

But then there was a knock again, and she knew it must be Owainn. She straightened her spine and gulped the last of her blood aperitif as Drew directed the customer where she sat waiting.

There was no doubt that it could have been worse for Letitia too, this bargain Marceline had struck with the detective. He was still in his vital years, even if he wore his trouble like a collar. Sad. Angry. She could smell the grief.

Still, it made for an interesting evening...usually.

Fingers stroked down her left earring. It swung on her lobe like a shiny beckon when Owainn came through the door and instead of looking delighted that he'd come for her, she appeared hungry.

"Should we away, sir, or would you rather sit for a spell and have a libation." which could be anything from drink to opium depending on what pleased him.

"You could have done worse for your first time." She tells Rebekah, who is on one side of the obscene red velvet couch in the parlor. She doesn't say that once the bloom is rubbed off, it would get worse. Not every one that stumbles into Marceline's is young, handsome, and well scented. Most are old and dried out like prunes.

There was nothing worse than a horny raisin.

Fletcher had been coming to Wytchwood for a long time. He was tall, broad, and exceptionally pleasant to look at, but she hadn't brought this up. Rebekah might remember him if she'd decided to describe him, but she thought it would be better for the girl to be pleasantly surprised.

The glass Letitia holds seems like it is filled with red wine, but is not. It is a sherry glass half full of the new blood that had just arrived. Not too much, just enough to pink her pretty places. She's waiting for her own cull to come claim her, and she doesn't want to fill up before he does.

"Don't worry, dearest. You're a spool of lovely. He'll want to unwind you a little at a time. He'd paid a great deal for having you. Let him." There's a knock at the door, and she wonders if it could be either Fletcher or Owainn early for their appointments. She fusses with Rebekah's hair just in case, wanting her to present perfectly, hoping that Fletcher is as kind to an innocent than he'd been with her.

Sometimes too kind, but that was a lifetime of experiences biasing her for the more extreme measures of her sexual pleasures.