Layla Huntingdon Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Manchester

Oh, and the storms—fuuuuck, they’re wild! Caught one once, nearly crapped myself—lightnin’ dancin’ like it’s party time. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt like Whore was laughin’ at me, “Why so serious, punk?” She’s a bitch, but she’s MY bitch, y’see? Sarcasm’s her language—every slip, every bruise, she’s mockin’ ya. Still, I’d climb her again—cuz I’m nuts, HAHA! What’s your excuse, pal?

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! Like, seriously? I’m caught off guard, and I’m sprinting for cover. I duck into this little pub, The Old Bridge, and grab a pint. I’m soaked, but hey, at least I’m dry now, right? I start chatting with the bartender, and he tells me about the local ghost stories. Apparently, the old bridge is haunted! I’m like, “No way!” But he’s dead serious. I’m intrigued, but also a bit freaked out.

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