She tried to be good, but got bored, because bad choices make good stories.
Her life was nothing more than ordinary - hell, she didn't even classify her life to be in that category. Growing up as courtesan and knowing that revenge was the only thin...
"little girls - made into whores, made into something evil"
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Wanting to leap out of my chair, to strangle the bastard's neck and then snap it - was the most beautiful nightmare. But as the guards that were waiting outside of the office stepped in to the room, I kept my hands to myself. Later... Later would I get my vengeance for him and Colette. Later...
But what my mind does not understand - is how, how could this man even dream about opening a boarding school for courtesans. How could he continue the line of what his father - or whoever first designed the school - do such thing. If it were the medieval period, it would make more sense. Living in the twenty-first century, with human rights and what-nots, the bastard decides to any way.
All those nights I suffered through paranoia and the intension that I would die from a young age or from STIs. Little girls - made into whores, made into something evil at such an innocent, young age. Little girls: theirs dreams into becoming something big and mighty... However, turned into a prostitute for the rich. My parents were fools to leave me at this school and never return to take me away from my first home.
Mr Marcías, the man who designed it all. Fiery ice flickered and burned in my eyes, in my veins, in my blood. The room became smaller - more claustrophobic, the air slipping from my lungs. His piercing, blue eyes seemed to stare to at my very soul, as if reading and conducting his next moves, my next moves.
My fingers fisted at my sides, and before I knew it, I pounced at him. Right over the wooden desk - his chair fell to the ground, with me on top, punching his face - slapping him. Wanting this bastard to die. Wanting this criminal (like me for fuck sake) to die...
But before I could raise my hand and knock him unconscious, two built men swoop me off my feet, the other helping Marcías off the ground. His face buried with bruises and blood dripping down his nose, the guards take me out of the room, walking me up the stairs and into another room.
Before I could protest to end the mother fucker, my breath blocks in my throat as I view my surroundings. My bedroom back at the boarding school was to be marvelled at, the one in jail - even a rat's home would have been more comfortable. But as I studied everything: the white walls, marble floors and lavish furniture, I was truly amazed. For I have expected something less... Something that an assassin - I scoffed at my new title - would have deserved to live in. Maybe Mr Marcías, as devilish as the bastard was, could...
No.
No, he would be my enemy till the ends of this world. Placing me into this room was just a test to see if I could warm up to him. What he had built - that fucking boarding school - not even God will be able to forgive him. Coming from me... I'm just as worse. But I'm like this - murderer, whore, bloody assassin - because of the prick. If he did not continue with that boarding school, my parents would have never dropped me off there, and I would have been a different person. A good person.
