Kenya was never ashamed of who she was. There were those who whispered as she passed in the streets, of silken bedsheets and stained reputations, but she paid them no mind.
There had been a time when her self-worth was tied to a man who had brutalized it until it was a shrivelled thing. But she had grown in heart and spirit, and knew that her body and time were hers to do with as she wished. And wish she did.
If wishes were stars, there wouldn't be enough in the sky.
Kenya whispered sweet words into the ears of those who needed so desperately to hear them. She soothed pride and hurt, and comforted with intimate touches and soft sympathies. She gave release where those with damaged bodies or minds would otherwise go unloved. She gave of herself and received in return.
She received tokens of affection that may bankrupt families, and words of love - both heated and thought out. Jewellery and furs, perfumes and books. She was surrounded by mementos of men and women who had found in her something they needed. Who had found in her a want that went so deep they couldn't help but return to bask in her presence.
She was always what someone needed. What someone wanted.
She was genuinely affectionate – but still provided a carefully timed service, bought and paid for. She didn't know how to be anyone other than herself. But it was always a carefully edited version of herself, facets remaining hidden from those who sought her affection. And who hadn't sought out Kenya Rosewater?
There was only one wish that she had never dared utter aloud. That she thought of when she prepared her room and saw herself in the mirror.
She wished for the day that someone would truly see her.
