Fortune

[birthrightgreen]

It was a small fortune that lay there in the middle of the bed. A lucrative week at Deje's Red Moon House, and an even more lucrative contract performed to the client's satisfaction. My fingers sifted through the gold, watching coins trickle through my fingers. They sparkled against even the warmth of my skin as I sat next to them, running them through my hands again and again. The price of skin. The price of blood. The price of sex. The price of death.

Everything has a price.

I was worth a fortune, in the bedroom and out. I could command any price I wished for my services. A fortune.

I sold my talents and as I studied the gold I wondered if that was what I was worth. Golden skin, golden coins. Cold against skin, like a blade, and just as deadly in their own way.

Everything has a price. Even me. I hated those coins, but I scooped them up and vanished them to join the rest of my small fortune. I could quit. I could retire to a small house in a small town somewhere. Get a cat. Maybe a dog. No more nights on my back. No more days with a blade in my hand.

But the blade was the joy and the men between my thighs were the price I paid for it. The gold piled up. I bought what I needed, though truly most of my wardrobe had been provided by grateful clients, and what I took away from a house was mine to keep. I saved for that day when I could walk away. When the debt had been extracted. When I could rejoice in that fortune. Revenge was better than gold.

There was a debt to be paid that the largest fortune in the world would not satisfy. A debt that the blood that stained my hands would not erase.

Once it was paid to my satisfaction, in screams and pleas for mercy not given, then I could retire. Then I could rest.

But until then, I'd continue to pay the price and earn the fortune and make each slice of the blade a promise for what was to come.