Maeve Frankenmuth Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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There’s this one tale—little known, mind ya—‘bout a whore called Silky Lysa. Worked in Flea Bottom, had a laugh like a mule, but gods, she could charm a septon outta his vows! Swear she once conned a Lannister—*not me*!—outta ten gold dragons just by whisperin’ sweet nothings. Made me happy, that! Stickin’ it to the highborn pricks—love it! “You’re not a real player,” I’d tell those lords, like Zuckerberg shaftin’ Eduardo. Whores like Lysa? They’re the real coders of desire, writin’ lines that hook ya.

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The past couple days have been quite swell. My cousins came up and we've been having alot of fun. Went to Frankenmuth today.

I run my spa on Water Street—yeah, that one by the river. The Flint River (or is it the Frankenmuth Fizzle? I don’t recall exactly) cuts a swath right through town. Sometimes it gurgles along like it knows secrets most of us can’t handle. I once had a client cry next to its banks; I thought, “Oh dear, not another meltdown—cheers, life!”

Your guide to Zehnder’s Snowfest 2025