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Decadent Art by zfx

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An evening at the Marquis and Marquise
an old work slightly retouched

But the soirée attendees don’t look like debauchees of the Ancien Régime, but rather like benign characters from Dickens.

Not that this is a problem. :rolleyes:
 

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The English equivalent "Appearances can be deceiving" is probably a loose translation from the original French. :rolleyes:
The English - or at least American - expression would be: "Don't judge a book by it's cover".
Those Victorian may have been straitlaced in public; but they had their naught side.
victorian.jpgvictorian1.jpeghorny-gentleman-fuck-lady-friend-classic.jpgharem-painting.jpg
That last one would be perfectly respectable since it depicted an "oriental" scene that fit the stereotype of Middle Eastern people. the fact that it allowed Victorian people to look at naked women without embarrassment was a bonus.
 
having to haul our crosses like that would be torture for our poor arms and shoulders
even before we were crucified - an our crowns of thorns,
and hot wax dripping from those candles onto our bare bodies...
 
Yes you are right
but I think that it was not only in England but in all the continent

has new work Inquisition
mmmmm ... now that’s one for which I’d love to write the back story!

Inquisition-16a.jpgThe bells in the cathedral belfry ring out. Exhausted I stagger into the crowded square, naked before the eyes of the town's leading citizens assembled in their best for the climax of the Inquisition's week of labor in our town. I march to my execution with ten other young women, all accused, tortured, tried and condemned by the Inquisitorial Court. Condemned to die crucified. After the long march through the jeering throngs that lined the streets, flanked by inquisitors dressed in black with their tall headpieces, and followed by the town's holy relic carried on high, I fall to my knees, and drop the heavy cross I carried on my back. Peering up through the sweat that stings my eyes, and the rivulets of blood from the crown of thorns upon my brow, I see they have already crucified the first of the condemned, dear Maria, my best friend. I know I am next. There will be no reprieve. I am seized and thrown upon my cross, arms spread and brutally nailed to the wood. Nearby I hear the clatter of another cross hitting the pavement and a cry of anguish. They rush to nail my feet. It will be a long, long day.
 
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The bells in the cathedral belfry ring out. Exhausted I stagger into the crowded square, naked before the eyes of the town's leading citizen's assembled in their best for the climax of the Inquisition's week of labor in our town. I march to my execution with ten other young women, all accused, tortured, tried and condemned by the Inquisitorial Court. Condemned to die crucified. After the long march through the jeering throngs that lined the streets, flanked by inquisitors dressed in black with their tall headpieces, and followed by the town's holy relic carried on high, I fall to my knees, and drop the heavy cross I carried on my back. Peering up through the sweat that stings my eyes, and the rivulets of blood from the crown of thorns upon my brow, I see they have already crucified the first of the condemned, dear Maria, my best friend. I know I am next. There will be no reprieve. I am seized and thrown upon my cross, arms spread and brutally nailed to the wood. Nearby I hear the clatter of another cross hitting the pavement and a cry of anguish. They rush to nail my feet. It will be a long, long day.
Well written and stated concisely by the voice of experience.
I think you've been there before, Barb? ;)
 
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