Anna Ayabe Whore ❤️

About Fukuoka

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

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Finally, it’s my turn. I climb up, heart racin’. I look down at the street below—there’s a bunch of people, and I can see the Ayabe Shrine in the distance. It’s beautiful, but I’m not here for sightseeing. I take a deep breath and jump.

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