Marcos' Beautiful and Mysterious Right-Hand Woman
Human / Unknown
Morrigan is, in a word, ravishing. She stands at 5’6" most of the time, preferring to go barefoot inside La Costurera, and a gentlemen would never ask her weight. She is voluptuous, with flawless 36-24-36 measurements, but she takes care to hide it all just enough beneath one of her dozens of gorgeous silk dresses. She is never seen without a dress that does not accentuate her shoulderblades perfectly, and these with her wrists form her prime tools of seduction. She considers simply flaunting one’s breasts or bottom to be not only unsophisticated but boring, and utilizes her other assets accordingly.
She has perfectly wavy chestnut hair, generally pinned back or kept in a loose fitting updo. Her eyes are a piercing icy blue, which stand out well against her pale skin. She has small pursed lips, generally curled into a smile, and elegant, defined cheekbones.
Her favorite colors are red and black, and she wears both with a pulsing sublimity. Her taste is jewelry is simple, and confines itself to gold the vast majority of the time, though she has been known to wear the occasional ruby or amethyst.
A Portrait of the Whore as a Young Woman
She is my broken leg and my crutch.
She tells me that when she was five her mother taught her well.
to avoid strange men, to beware of gifts
to listen to her elders, to lace her boots up tight she goes out
She is my siren and my silence
She tells me that when she was ten her father taught her well.
to avoid strange men with no money, to beware of gifts that do not glitter
to obey her elders, to unlace her bodice when they come in
She is my check and my mate
She tells me that when she was fifteen her mistress taught her well.
to laugh when stroked, to blush when kissed
to sigh when licked, to moan when loved
She is my blooming blossom and my blossoming bruise
She tells me that when she was twenty her owner taught her well.
to cry when slapped, to pale when beat
to suffocate when choked, to scream when fucked
She is my famine and my feast
She tells me that when she was twenty five her lover taught her well
to give when much is given, to take when much is taken
to listen when no one will speak, to speak when no one will listen
to fight when fought, to retreat when defeated
to trust when trusted, to hold when held
She is my student and my teacher
my broken leg and my crutch
my siren and my silence
my check and my mate
my blooming blossom and my blossoming bruise
my famine and my feast
my vision and my fata morgana.
- Author unknown.