Esmeralda de Luna

Forget safety. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. — Rumi
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Esmeralda de Luna

Esmeralda de Luna

studio musician


Languages : German, English, French

Height : 1,53 m

Figure: petite and curvy, like a violin

Hair color : lacquer black

Eye color : agate

Skin tone : sandalwood

Parfume : Marni

Favourite drink: Champagner Extra Brut

Favourite dish : Les Crustacés

Favourite restaurant : Grace




Esmeralda de Luna is delicate like a moonbeam. Esmeralda is a whore with a mystic’s energy. She was born with the violin already in her cradle: Esmeralda is a proud Sintezza, a scion of a renowned Sinti family, with a minstrel heritage that reaches back into the darkness of distant centuries. Being the great-grandniece of the famous Django, she cultivated her innate talent at the Moscow Conservatory. Accustomed to being exposed to the public’s gaze from an early age, she still stands in the limelight as a musician today. And yet, in those moments of quiet devotion, something shines through in her gestures and glances: a magical temperament that she is barely aware of herself. She has learnt to control emotions – those of the audience as well as her own. She exudes a passionate spirit. She combines the wildness of the nocturnal drifter with the transfiguration of El Greco’s Madonnas. Could it be the harmony of the Spheres echoing in her small, curvaceous violin body, or the compelling Czardas of most earthly temptation? It’s an obscure succubus connection, if you know what I mean. In the 15th century, Esmeralda would have been burnt as a witch.



Esmeralda about herself.


I seem small and defenceless, but my will is strong and my heart is sincere. I am an outsider, non-judgmental, full of understanding for the inner loneliness of all who are condemned to wander forever, like you. My curiosity is unfathomable! There is so much that I want to know. Yet at the same time, I do know… I listen to the voice that guides me. As I can see the colours of music, feel the smell of your desire. The smell of burn. The sparkling trail of your nerves. My hands instinctively know the secret ways to set you ablaze; to stoke your desire; to melt your pain into nobler legacies…. Let me go on, let me read your hand. Behold the swing of the pendulum, soft and round like some wicked woman’s buoyant hips…. Put me on the cross. Make me burn. Watch the dancing flames, and an abrupt violin note that runs through us as we are stretched like strings, vibrating in unison, in the harmony of ecstasy, you and me. You grasp me as one would grasp a flame. The more I give myself to you, the more intangible I become, and invulnerable; for my devotion is incommensurable, you cannot contain it, it embraces you – and the great mystery that you do not comprehend.



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