Mila Andernach Whore ❤️

About Essen

Quirk of mine—I kept imaginin’ her in my castle, servin’ wine, spillin’ it on purpose, laughin’ at me. Exaggeratin’ now—she’d prob’ly poison the damn cup! Hah! Cold disdain, I’d glare, she’d grin—whore’s got guts, I’ll give her that. Ain’t just a body, nah—she’s a storm, a bloody riddle. Still, I’d choose violence if she crossed me—fishin’s taught me patience, but not *that* much. What ya think—whore’s a queen or a rat?

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Back in the day, I'd massage folks right near the old Rathaus, watching the gothic spires catch the last rays of the sun. I mean, that feeling is almost poetic… kinda like a scene from Moolaadé, "I choose violence." Not in the brutal way, but because beauty demands fierce protection.

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