#maaras

When she was a child, they told her she would be nothing but a whore.

She builds an empire with skilled hands. Small as it is, it is her empire. Her subjects are the abused, the forsaken, the free. They idolize and worship her, but all she asks is that they love her.

An honest love, not one of beauty's inspiration. They each see someone different when they look at her. One girl will see a woman with curves and curly hair, while another will see her with legs for days and cropped hair. One sees her skin as honey kissed, and another darker than the empty moon. They see skinny lips or plump lips. More ass than tits or vice versa or maybe a healthy balance.

She can sing, dance, cook, clean, entertain and a thousand other things, but none of it matters when she watches the birds fly by her window. Her people are free. Her people are happy. Her people are healthy. Her people. Her people.

They matter above everyone else in the world. Her love for the little hawk that led her through the city streets was great, but not great enough to make her spurn them.

But her own heart would make her turn away, just this once. She sees him from her window. His red hair and freckles she knows from memory. The body she has come to enjoy for her own selfish needs.

She can call it lust.

She can call it love.