It was in Venice, not so long ago she supposed, fourteen hundred and ninety-three. She’d been an immortal for nearly thirty-five years, still just a fledgling. Yet she had left her maker several years before then. She was a quick learner and his ways had never suited her. Ramona had changed her name to Gitta, and was living under the cover of wealth that was not her own, but rather the mortal she had settled herself beside for the time being. She found it an easy way to live, that life of Mistressing. She would have never taken it up as a mortal, but as an immortal, well, morals didn’t seem to matter anymore. And things were so easy. She slept all day, and no servant of the small house would disturb her, thinking it good that the kept woman stayed on a schedule that would leave her fresh with energy for her keeper. When her Lord did not come, she snuck out to feed. This left her usually four out of seven days a week to slake her thirst. The of course, there were the little nibbles she could take out of her keeper.
However, her Lord, St. Raven, son of a dieing Marquee, was long gone in London these past several years. Even so she received a letter and her allowance each and every month. His last letter had indicated that he was most happily -odd for a man of his randy sort - married, but he promised to continue to send her a monthly allowance for old times sake.
These were the times, simple to the point were scandal was what everyone lived to hear about. The murder of a fisherman’s family would go completely unnoticed because Lady H was seen in the Coventry Gardens with Lord R, each entangled in the other’s arms while Lady H’s husband stood just on the opposite side of the tall hedge with Lord R’s wife.
Oh, yes, simple, ignorant times.
Night had fallen, dusk’s last hues slipping away when Ramona gathered herself to rise. St. Raven Sinclair, her St. of Sin, had seen to it that she acquired the highest in London fashion in her wardrobe, and so Ramona dressed as such. She had never enjoyed the frock and frill of Venice or France in the least.
In most places, Ramona was carefully avoided. To many of the highest and hottest blood in Venice it was well known that she was not the lady she appeared, but simply a lowly whore that was well paid for. It made Ramona’s life a dap simpler. No one heeded her as she walked to the lesser homes and inns of Venice until she strode passed Mistress Ann’s Cat Box and entered the dank and dark heart of poor Venice.
Here, she took her meals. Though part of her long to sink her fangs into the rich, aristocratic blue blood of her “betters,” it was far easier, by far, to drag a lower class man into a dark, dirt corner, sink her fangs into his willing flesh and let his blood spill over her tongue. She clutched her prey close, feeling his heart beat in each gush of nectar that filled her mouth. There was still one thing she had yet to learn, and as the last bit of the mans life trickled down her throat, Ramona felt a twinge of guilt.
She still didn’t know when enough was enough.
Ooc: I know this sounds like a rant about Ramona’s past, but really I am just trying to open up a situation and a strong setting for the place and date I chose. ^-^``
