grow weary of your husband’s neglect. tell tales to the servants and your companions of his violence and brutality. disappear into the night without even your trusted maidservant. spill the blood of a chicken on the floor of your husband’s studiolo. create panic, as your chastity, virtue and the nobility of your blood is well known. your letters telling of your fear and panic are found and read. flee to the villa of one of your suitors before your marriage. he is still charmed by you. make him promise to hide and shelter you. you have brought your jeweled dagger with you. open his throat. stagger onto the road, telling of your violation and pain. all of italy is in a frenzy at the actions of this cur. return home. your husband will see his peasant concubine no more. finally prepare for the birth of an heir.
This woman could tell me anything and I’d believe it. She could tell me that if I went to a public space and started twerking that it would bring about world peace and I’d immediately be out in the middle of goddamn Times Square or some shit and throw my back in a circle (I ain’t got no ass to speak of).
punkpixel 