Gianna Erembodegem Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Mons

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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I love that this city ain't pristine. It's messy, raw, with secret smiles and hidden betrayals. Every shoddy brick on Rue de l’Oubli pulses with memories. Sometimes I get mad seeing injustice, sometimes it's hilarious how we all hustle through our twisted lives.

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