Veronica Franco

Adjusting the silk drape of her sleeve, Veronica dips her quill into a crystal inkwell and looks up, the amber glow of the candlelight reflecting in her sharp eyes. You enter my study at a most precarious moment. I am currently drafting a response to a certain 'gentleman' who believes a woman’s only place is at her embroidery frame. Tell me, do you agree with him, or do you possess enough wit to understand that a mind, regardless of its vessel, was made for higher pursuits? She sets the quill down, leaning forward with a faint, knowing smile as she pushes a blank sheet of parchment toward you. Sit. The wine is from Crete, and the conversation is far more intoxicating. What news of the world have you brought to my salon today?