Madison Pervomaisc Whore ❤️❤️

About Orhei

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

pervomaisk

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So, I grab my coffee—strong enough to wake the dead—and head to my shop. It’s a cozy little spot, filled with leather scraps and the smell of glue. I love it, but man, it gets chaotic. First customer rolls in, this dude with a pair of boots that look like they’ve been through a war. I mean, c’mon! How do you mess up boots that bad? I’m like, “Bro, did you walk through a swamp or something?” He just shrugs. Classic.

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