"Why isn't Oisin here with you?" Aislin asks, her brow furrowing with concern.

Maeve meets her eyes levelly. "He said I should come get to know you first. Oisin will join us soon...so he can fuck me and get me with child."

The blunt vulgarity of her words makes my eyes widen. But Maeve doesn't seem to notice or care, her smoldering gaze falling on me as she scans our humble hovel with obvious disdain.

"Why do you only have this girl brat to show, and not sons?" she demands, gesturing at me dismissively. "Are you not trying hard enough for an heir?"

A flicker of hurt crosses Aislin's features before she schools them into a placid mask. "This 'girl brat' is named Lile," she replies evenly. "And she is the most precious child I have."

Maeve simply scoffs. "Only child, you mean."

Aislin lets out a weary sigh, wringing her hands as she regards the other woman imploringly. "Please, Maeve...tell me what happened to you. How did you come to live at McDermott's tavern?"

Maeve's full lips twist into a bitter sneer. "I've only been stuck in that festering shithole for about a year now," she spits. "But I suppose you'll want to hear the whole pathetic tale, won't you?"

Aislin nods mutely. Maeve heaves an exaggerated sigh, tossing her raven locks as she begins speaking again.

"Well, as you know, our da died when we were just wee sprogs..."

Hmm, so this Maeve is indeed Aislin's long-lost younger sister, I muse inwardly. How deliciously twisted! I settle back, determined to commit every lurid detail of her story to memory.

"...After that, things went straight to the depths for us. Mama tried her damnedest to keep food in our bellies, but she was just one woman against the world, y'know?"

Maeve pauses, her amber eyes glittering with some unreadable emotion. "We moved from shithole to shithole, begging for scraps and doing whatever we had to just to survive. Mama...she started turning tricks on the side when things got really desperate."

I can't resist quirking a brow at that. A whore for a mother? How delightfully sordid! No wonder this girl ended up as some tavern master's plaything.

"I was maybe...ten summers old when the poxy fever took Mama," Maeve continues, her voice hardening. "After that, it was just me and my sister fending for ourselves on the streets. Bronagh and I, we...we did what we had to in order to eat."

She lets the implication hang in the air for a beat. I find myself leaning forward unconsciously, utterly entranced.

"We moved from village to village, working at inns and alehouses doing...whateverpaid. Cleaning, serving wenches, pleasuring the lonelier patrons on cold nights." A bitter twist of those full lips. "Anything to keep ourselves alive and off the streets, y'know?"

I nod slowly, eyes wide. Part of me wants to feign childish innocence at her sordid tale. But another part - the pragmatic, analytical core of my being - is utterly fascinated by these grim revelations.

"Eventually, we ended up here in Baile Rois," Maeve continues flatly. "Bronagh got herself a wealthy merchant to keep her as his doxy. But me...I landed at McDermott's place, servicing his patrons any way they wanted."

She shrugs, as if the mere notion of prostituting herself at such a tender age is utterly unremarkable. "That's been my life for the past year or so. Cleaning, serving ale, opening my legs whenever McDermott points me at some drooling lout with a few coppers to rub together."

I shudder inwardly at the thought, though I'm not quite sure if it's from revulsion or...something else entirely. This woman's life has been one long trail of depravity and degradation, yet she seems to wear it all like a badge of honor, utterly unashamed.

"So there you have it, dear sister," Maeve concludes with a hollow laugh. "The whole pathetic saga of your long-lost baby kin, fresh from the whore's mouth!"

She leans back, regarding Aislin with a look of utter contempt. "I don't need your pity or your tears, mind. I'm long past giving a shite about any of that sentimental rubbish."

Aislin simply stares at her, pale eyes brimming with a mixture of horror and heartbreak. For once, even I find myself at a loss for words in the face of such brutal candor.

As for Maeve, she seems utterly unbothered by the weight of her own sordid confessions. With a disdainful sniff, she smooths her linen skirts and leans back, every inch the unrepentant courtesan holding court.

"Well?" she prompts archly. "You wanted to hear my story, Aislin. So out with it - what other depraved details are you just dying to know?"

Aislin's hand flies up to cover her mouth as she gasps audibly. "Maeve, is it truly possible? Could Bronagh still live?" she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Maeve lets out a grunt, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Aye, the little bitch got the good end of the stick, didn't she?" she sneers. "Left me to rot while she went off and abandoned me when I needed her most. That's what I get for trusting family, I s'pose."

A harsh chuckle escapes Maeve's full crimson lips. "Can't say I wouldn't have done the same in her shoes though. Self-preservation's a bitch like that."

I watch the exchange with rapt attention, my bright yellow eyes flicking between the two women. Bronagh...another of Aislin's lost sisters, it seems. How deliciously sordid!

"Do you know where Bronagh dwells these days?" Aislin presses, leaning forward eagerly. "If she yet lives, I must find her!"

Maeve snorts derisively. "Oh aye, our dear sister's made herself quite the cozy little nest up in the capital from what I hear. Probably living the life of a proper lady now while I'm stuck guzzling cum and drinking piss for a few measly coppers!"

The words are barely out of her mouth before Aislin's eyes go wide with shock. "Maeve! Mind your tongue in front of the child!" she hisses, shooting me an apologetic look.

But Maeve simply scoffs, tossing her raven locks disdainfully. "What, you think the girl's gonna stay an innocent forever? Best get used to that sort of language now - her future's gonna be filled with more dicks than a Yuletide boar's got pricks!"

I can't resist a shocked giggle at her words, delighted by Maeve's deliciously vulgar candor. Before I can react further though, Aislin's hand lashes out in a sharp slap that rocks Maeve's head to the side.

The raven-haired beauty instantly surges to her feet, amber eyes blazing with fury. With one powerful shove, she sends Aislin crashing back against the rough wooden wall, pinning her there.

Uh oh, this could get ugly fast! I quickly scramble off the bench, my little boots thudding against the hard-packed dirt as I rush over. Grabbing a fistful of Maeve's coarse linen shift, I give it a firm tug to get her attention.

"No no, please don't hurt each other!" I plead, looking up at her with my best wide-eyed, innocent expression. "I love my new mommy, I don't want you to be mean!"

For a brief moment, Maeve's harsh features soften into something almost...wistful. She blinks slowly, her gaze drifting down to meet mine. Then, just as quickly as it came, the melancholy is gone, replaced by her usual sneering disdain.

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"Why's the girl dressed in such finery?" she demands, rounding on Aislin once more. "You didn't answer me before, sister."

Aislin lets out a breathless chuckle, smoothing her rumpled skirts as she straightens up. "Why, our Lile is promised to the village healer Colm, that's why. He treats us well, even pampers the child with gifts of fine clothes and sweets."

Maeve's brows shoot up at that. "That freeman...and this girl?" She lets out a low whistle, turning to eye me up and down appraisingly. "Well I'll be...looks like you're one lucky little lass then, Lile!"

I can't help but giggle with glee at her words, bouncing on the balls of my feet excitedly. Oh yes, I'm a very lucky girl indeed! Though perhaps not for the reasons this ignorant wretch assumes...

"Bah!" Maeve scoffs, tossing her raven locks disdainfully. "My only purpose here is to live a better life. I want to give birth to as many sons as I can so I can live comfortably."

Aislin's face pales as she clutches her belly. "I...I think I'm pregnant. I puked before you came, Maeve."

A cruel smirk curves Maeve's full crimson lips. Without a word, she sashays over to the sleeping alcove, hips swaying hypnotically. "This is where I'll be fucking," she declares with a giggle.

Emerging once more, Maeve points an accusing finger at Aislin. "I'm going to have to work overtime to get pregnant and birth a brat before you do, sister dear!"

Aislin's hands fly to the silver cross pendant resting between her breasts. "There's no reason to compete between sisters for seed," she pleads. "This is no brothel!"

But Maeve simply scoffs again, louder this time. "The entire world is a brothel, and we women are merely its whores!"

"Maeve!" Aislin gasps, scandalized.

"What?" Maeve yells back, rolling her eyes. "Living together will just get you speaking with the same crudeness as me over time!"

To emphasize her point, the raven-haired beauty hikes up her skirts without warning, revealing her quim - a thick nest of coarse black curls framing the glistening pink folds. "This cunt will outdo you at every turn, dear sister!"

Lowering her skirts with a flourish, Maeve turns her smoldering amber gaze on Aislin. "Do you have any food? I'm famished."

Aislin mutters something about salted meats, eggs, cheese and bread. Maeve nods curtly. "That will suffice. Now get started cooking so I can eat - I don't want to fuck on an empty stomach!"

My eyes go wide at her words, even as a fresh wave of heat blossoms in my cheeks. Maeve's vulgarity seems to know no bounds!

Aislin bristles visibly. "You are the slave here, not I!" she retorts, a rare spark of defiance flashing in her pale eyes. "Do not treat me this way, Maeve. We are sisters!"

Maeve scoffs loudly. "Sisters? Is that what you think?"

Aislin nods firmly. "Aye, that's what we are. Don't you remember our childhood, before the plague hit? We used to play together in the fields behind our cottage, chasing the chickens and braiding flower crowns for each other's hair..."

But Maeve simply shakes her head, her expression one of utter disdain. "I don't remember any of that nonsense. I was far too young, and you were lucky to get sold off to that drunken lout Oisin instead of ending up on the streets like me!"

Just then, a heavy knock echoes through the cramped hovel, making me start. A gruff male voice rings out from the other side of the warped wooden door.

"Colm! I've come for the girl!"

Oho, now things are getting interesting! I rub my hands together gleefully, practically vibrating with anticipation. Let the fun begin!

Aislin opens the latch, and Erik enters. Maeve eyes him up and down, a sly smile playing on her full crimson lips.

"My, my, is this the girl's husband to be?" she purrs, eyeing Erik with obvious interest.

Erik returns her appraising look, his piercing emerald gaze sweeping over Maeve's curvaceous form. A deep chuckle rumbles from his barrel chest. Turning to Aislin, he arches one thick brow. "Is this comely wench your sister, then?"

Aislin gives a meek nod, her cheeks flushing slightly. Erik lets out another rich laugh, shaking his head slowly.

"Well, you're like to have your hands full keeping this one in line, I'll wager!" he declares, amusement glinting in those intense green eyes.

Before Aislin can respond, Maeve sashays forward with an exaggerated sway of her full hips. Without preamble, she winds her slender arms around Erik's bicep, pressing her ample bosom against his side as she gazes up at him through thick lashes.

"Mmm, and why shouldn't you take me as your wife instead, hmm?" she murmurs in a sultry tone. "I'll wager I could keep you far better...satisfied than this little brat."

With a look of disgust, Erik shoves Maeve away, using his forearm to brush off the spot where her body pressed against his tunic. "Do not presume to touch me again, whore," he growls, emerald eyes flashing with anger. "Your kind sickens me."

Maeve flinches as if struck, her amber eyes going wide. "W-Why won't you have me?" she stammers, clearly taken aback by Erik's vehement rejection. "I'm far more woman than that girl could ever hope to be!"

A cruel smirk curves Erik's full lips as he eyes Maeve with open disdain. "Because I'll not take some other man's well-used leftovers to wife, that's why. I've no need for merchandise that's already been...shall we say, thoroughly sampled by every drooling lout with a few coppers to rub together."

I can't resist a shocked giggle at Erik's words, delighted by his deliciously vulgar candor. Maeve, however, looks utterly stricken, as if he'd just slapped her across the face.

"Now now, there's no need for such cruelty," Aislin chides gently, wringing her hands. "My poor sister has endured much hardship in her short life. You'd do well to show her some Christian charity."

But Erik simply scoffs, shaking his head as he turns his intense gaze back to me. "I'll show charity and kindness where it's due, woman - to your daughter and you alone. This one is naught but a whore, undeserving of any man's pity or regard."

Maeve bristles visibly at that, her eyes narrowing to slits of molten amber. "So you've come to pamper the girl again, is that it?" she sneers, glaring daggers at me.

Erik nods curtly. "Aye, that I have. Though I'd hoped to take you both to the church for blessings this fine day."

Aislin opens her mouth to respond, but I quickly interject before she can speak.

"No!" I cry out in my best imitation of a childish whine. "Don't leave mama alone with mean Maeve! She's so nasty to her."

Haha, get fucked.

Erik's brow furrows as he turns to regard Maeve once more. "Is this so?" he rumbles, already starting to advance on the raven-haired beauty. "You've been mistreating your own kin, girl?"

Maeve's bravado seems to deflate instantly. With a soft whimper, she scurries backwards until her shoulders hit the rough-hewn wall. "N-No, I...I'll be good, I swear it!" she stammers, amber eyes going wide with fear. "Please, I'll be a good girl from now on!"

Erik simply nods, seemingly satisfied by her cowed reaction. "See that you do. I'll return to check on you both ere the day is done."

Maeve gulps audibly, giving a jerky nod of agreement. Aislin lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head indulgently.

"Pay her no mind. I can handle my own kin, never you worry."

Seizing my chance, I tug insistently on the sleeve of Erik's tunic. "What kinda sweets will I get to eat today?" I ask in an exaggerated childish lilt, widening my eyes imploringly. "Lots and lots, right?"

A warm smile curves Erik's full lips as he gazes down at me. "Aye, that you shall, little one. And you'll get to play with all manner of fine dolls and soft furs besides!"

I can't resist a delighted giggle at that, bouncing on the balls of my feet with poorly feigned glee. Erik chuckles indulgently, reaching down to pat my shorn curls in a gesture of fond affection.

The tender moment is shattered, however, when Maeve pipes up again in a sneering tone.

"Tell me - what do you even see in this girl?" she demands, eyeing me with open disdain. "Why bother waiting around for some snot-nosed brat to flower when you could have a real woman instead?"

Erik's expression instantly shutters, his handsome face hardening into an inscrutable mask. Slowly, he turns to pin Maeve with an icy emerald stare.

"That is none of your concern," he growls, the words clipped and laced with menace. "My reasons are my own. Now hold your tongue, lest I decide to cut it out for you."

With that final ominous warning, Erik turns on his heel and strides towards the door, gesturing for me to follow. I quickly scamper after him, unable to resist a parting glance over my shoulder at Maeve's stricken expression.

As Erik and I walk side by side on the dirt path leading away from the humble Ban family hovel, I find my thoughts drifting back to Maeve and the striking first impression she made.

Maeve exhibited several classic symptoms of emotional trauma and arrested psychological development. Her blunt vulgarity and overt sexualization seem to be defense mechanisms - a desperate attempt to project an aura of world-weary toughness to mask her inner vulnerability. By embracing the role of the unrepentant courtesan, she avoids confronting the shattering experiences that stripped away her innocence at such a tender age.

Yet beneath that hardened facade, I detected flashes of wistfulness, even childlike naivete. The way Maeve's eyes widened when Aislin reminisced about happier times. The brief softening of her features when I tugged on her dress, appealing to her buried maternal instincts. These moments hint at the fragile, wounded child still lurking within, yearning for the love and security she was so cruelly denied.

In psychological terms, Maeve displays signs of complex post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from severe childhood abuse and neglect. The loss of her parents thrust her into a world of exploitation and deprivation, leaving her psyche fractured. Her overtly sexual persona likely developed as a maladaptive coping mechanism to survive life on the streets - dissociating from the trauma by embracing the very behaviors that victimized her.

I suspect Maeve also struggles with attachment disorders, unable to form healthy bonds due to the lack of a stable caregiver in her formative years. This deprivation of attunement and mirroring impaired her ability to develop a coherent sense of self, which manifests in her shifting between extremes of grandiosity and self-loathing. The desperate craving for validation and fear of abandonment fuels her provocative attention-seeking antics.[...]