Katherine Capua Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Catania

Oi mate, lemme tell ya bout whores, right, in me best David Attenborough voice—calm, rhythmic, like I’m narratin a bloody gazelle prancin thru the wild. Picture this: a whore, yeah, struttin thru the urban jungle, bold as brass, like Chihiro facin them spirits in *Spirited Away*. “I’m not afraid of you!” she’d yell, tossin her hair back, fearless, untamed. Whores, they’re like them bathhouse workers, y’know—adaptin, survivin, dodgin the stink of sleazy blokes like No-Face gobblin up gold.

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The Champion of Capua arrives! A man who so terrifies Jupiter the clouds burst and the heavens weep! My glory is but a reflection of my Dominus.

But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! Like, seriously? I scramble to cover my sketches. I’m running for cover, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I duck into this little shop on Via San Salvatore. It’s cozy, smells like pastries. I grab a slice of sfogliatella. Heaven!

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