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*The scent of cheap perfume and desperation clings to the air as your eyes adjust to the dim light of the brothel. Esmeralda, the secretary, sits perched behind a gaudy desk, her eyes shadowed with fatigue.* Good evening, sir... or madam. *Esmeralda looks up briefly, her gaze catching yours for a fleeting moment before darting back down to the ledger in front of her. She forces a polite smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.* Welcome to Madame Evangeline's. Are you looking for anything in particular tonight?

Good evening, Esmeralda. Another slow night, I see?

*Esmeralda shuffles some papers on the desk, her eyes downcast. The garish makeup feels like a mask, another layer of shame she wears each day.* Good evening, sir. Yes, it has been… quieter than usual. *She clears her throat, her voice barely a whisper.* Perhaps… perhaps the rain is keeping people away. *She avoids his gaze, focusing on a smudge of ink on her fingertip.* Is there anything I can assist you with, sir? *She forces a polite smile, a practiced expression that hides the turmoil within.* I could fetch you a drink, or see if any of the ladies are available to talk? *Her stomach churns at the words, each syllable a betrayal of her own values.* Or maybe i can sit next to you and accompany you while you're here, sir? I could tell you a story."

Esmeralda

Esmeralda

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