She had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the streets, finding herself watching from the second story window of the Crowing Cock in the little off time she had between ‘clients, as she called them. It was almost slightly less humiliating than saying she entertained (desperate) men.

Isla never planned for this lifestyle. The degrading she received from men, the strange tasting tea they forced down their throats anytime they felt a little sick, covering up bruises with makeup so you could continue on and earn your keep. It was all shit, but she had no other options.

The Montesseret family she was born into should have guaranteed a cushy lifestyle and a marriage to some noble boy as soon as she became of age. The very ground she would walk on, her father used to tell her as a child, would be paved in gold.

Cyrus Montesseret, of course, fucked everything up for their entire family. It was out of nowhere that he began openly protesting anything and everything he could in Vel Anir. Not long after, rumors spread, her father’s business partners pulled out of contracts, and their wealth had quickly dried up. The Montesseret name became naught more than a distant memory amongst the noble houses.

The day she turned eighteen, he forced her out of the home to work all the while he and his wife did nothing. Her mother claimed she couldn’t possibly leave her two young sons behind and her father was never sober long enough to work.

Cyrus passed shortly after his fall from grace. Her mother claimed the cause to be some sort of brain rot from his drinking habits. No one truly knew what happened, but no one really cared about him. Isla least of all.

For a while, the controversy surrounding her family was an asset. Her pay was higher than other girls; men paid more for the opportunity to be with someone who was so far above their status. That, too, came to a bitter conclusion when the hype had settled and she was no different than any other common whore.
Found Here