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About Villach

Oh, and the typos—soryy, fat fingers, wine’s flowing, y’know? Escorts got stories, too—like that rumor ‘bout some duke in Essos who hired ten at once, then vanished. Probs dead in a ditch, poor bastard—overdosed on “company.” Makes me cackle, imagining his face. Anyway, it’s a game, innit? Escorts play it better than most—sly, slippery, like shadows in that film I love. “The past is a strange place,” movie says, and escorts? They’re living it, dragging it into now. Hate ‘em, love ‘em—can’t look away. You? What’s yer take? Spill it!