Freya Barsbuettel Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Cologne

Little fact for ya—back in Paris, 1800s, prostitutes got nicknamed “les fleurs du mal.” Flowers of evil, poetic crap, right? Suits em tho—pretty but fucked. Ruby’d smirk at that, probly say, “I’m a weed, not a rose.” Loved her sass, man, cut through the gloom. Hannibal don’t usually care, but that? That stuck. “The heart bends and twists,” Varda said—Ruby’s did, every damn night.

Background

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Down near Seebek, there's a park. A luvvly green spot for smooches and heart-to-hearts, you know? I even had, uh, some of my deepest convos there. Srsly, every bench and tree feels like it’s eavesdropping on forbidden trysts. And oh, there's the Barsbütteler Forst. It’s not just trees—it’s a den of passion, if you catch my drift.