Seaside Moors there, silhouetted under an eastern star

a pure laugh, one her mother sought to echo. "mwen pral anseye ou." the words felt good to say. marie had called the hotgloss of the rhythmic tongue unrefined. si vous ne pouvez pas tenir une conversation, vous serez inutile à un homme, the beautiful courtesan had sniffed in response to erzulie's rolling accent. if a man wanted only a fuck, he could go elsewhere. marie's girls were educated, and that drew more money to her than aforementioned places.
erzulie's daughters would never know such a life.
"rete trankil, tankou sa a," and here she slid to her belly in a hunting stalk, and described a small semi-circle for solaire's education.