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About Liverpool

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

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We all end up outside, and it’s freezing! I’m standing there, shivering, and I see Mrs. Jenkins again. She’s wrapped in a blanket, looking like a little bird. I can’t help but smile. She’s like, “Well, at least I’m not in the library!”

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