seem to drift through memories... memories of before and after my death. "But Madame" you may ask "How do you speak to me if you have passed the veil to deaths embrace?" A worthy question, yes...and I shall come to that in time…if you have it.
tend to forget that those not likened to me have limited quantities of time. Proven by each harsh jerking of their delicate necks toward the large clocks built as monuments to that elusive God of schedules... But that God and I shall never meet, we have...an understanding you see? No? Give me that precious time of yours, and you shall..
was brought through my mothers haven, the crown of womanhood, in the year
1457. The Renaissance was passing in full beauty over the earth, as I slid bloody and membraned, into the arms of the midwife.
fear I gave them quite a scare, for no screams would my fledgling lungs make, just a look...or so they tell me, of wonder over my tiny features as I stared up at the frescos decorating mio madras canopy, though my eyes were yet almost blind.
t began, my love affair with beauty and the callused hands that create such softness...Enter this world of the most erotic of balances. Silken smooth against chiseled hardness...
nter the Catalyst De Medici.