Fine Ladies;
The Whores of Tortuga
Why, I'm downright the finest lady in the whole blasted world. I'm just as fine a lady as the Queen and nobody can tell me otherwise. Maybe finer, 'cause the Queen probably don't have to endure half of what I do every day.
As most life stories do, my life story started as a child. My mother, Emile Wilsmith, had a few complications birthing me, her hips being as small as they were, but in the end all was well. She produced a squalling babe. One with all of the family traits, I might add. Red hair (Not orange or rust, I do mean red) and a skull-splitting personality. My mother named me Lenore after my grandmother. Lenore Tania Wilsmith. My father was a sailor for the navy so we always lived close to the water. We didn't have just tons of money, but we never had to wonder when next we would eat. We had a nice, respectable home with a nice garden in the front and two dogs to watch after us while papa was gone. Those dogs were somethin' else though. They had a great use as pillows and friends but other than that those blasted dogs wouldn't have saved us for nothin'.
I was a little bit of a hassle for my mother, with my fire personality and the like. Why, I'd be gone for two minutes and she'd walk out the front door to check on me and there I'd be, runnin' down the street in my little bare feet with a hoard of trouble behind me. Why, I just wanted to poke a bit of fun with the butcher. I thought it would be a mighty fine laugh if his two poor pigs that he had just chopped up suddenly came alive again. He didn't think it was very funny. He started runnin' and rantin' 'bout demons and the like. Then the preacher got involved. Then...anyways. Needless to say I got quite a whoopin' for that stunt there. And that was only the beginning.
Thinking back, I'd say we had life good until about August of my thirteenth year. That's the year that daddy's ship didn't dock. The ship was supposed to pull into port with a cargo full of china and other fineries around mid-August. Only it never did. We hoped that the ship had just been caught in a storm and lost her heading, but me and mama knew better. Daddy was the finest sailor in the seas, he knew how to read the stars, the sun, the birds, anything really. He never lost direction. About three months went by and we finally got word that the ship had been ransacked by pirates. That horrible day when we knew he was dead. I remember waking up the next morning to my stomach and throat hurting so awful from crying. My mother...she was worse. She cried blood Her whole spirit was shattered. My mother was always one to carry herself with a certain grace and dignity. Now she would never meet ones eyes. I guess she thought that they would see the sadness. They did. She had met daddy and got married to him when she was nay but sixteen years. She loved him more than anything. They were soul-mates, I suppose was the way in went. She seemed like she barely lived at all after he died. We still had enough money to keep the house and eat our meals just like before, so we were all right there. Mama, though. For that time she barely ate, she barely talked, even. Soon after that year she got real sick. She became too weak to get out of bed. I was fourteen years and I was sitting beside her bed quietly reading a book. It was a rare thing for me, to be silent and still. I found it very nice though and did it every day while she was confined to bed. Most the time I would read to her. Nothing helped. I remember that one day, I was knee-deep in a story when she called to me in a raspy voice. Her face was pale a blotchy and her hair had lost it's luster. What was once brilliantly red was now a dull rusted color. "Lenore," she said again. I placed my book on the table and inched closer to her. She looked at me for a long time but said no more. She took a deep, calming breathe and closed her eyes.
And that's how the beginning went, honest.