*** Fiona Whitestrake - 21 Years old.
She lounged on the third floor of the Cold Iron District's largest brothel, dressed in simple lingerie that felt comfortably familiar against her skin. A faded black bralette hugged her chest without pinching, the cotton soft from too many washes.
The matching panties sat low on her hips, plain and unadorned, more practical than pretty. No lace, no frills—just well-worn fabric that clung to her like a second skin in a place built on pretense.
Years of rebellious posturing had led nowhere, and the lack of progress was finally starting to wear her down.
Life felt stagnant. Despite all her work in the shadows, she had never managed to find anyone she believed could help her cut ties with her family.
Whether it was the Lionbrights, the D'Arclights, or any other influential noble house that might take her in, none of them were enough.
