Claire Weissenfels Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

Whore’s a riddle, innit? Sneaky, slippin’ through alleys – my precious! – nobody knows her real name. Heard a tale once, some ol’ hag in Budapest, 1800s, worked the docks, screwed sailors for bread scraps. Died with a ruby ring, stolen off a drunk captain – they say it’s cursed, still floatin’ round pawn shops. True? Dunno, but creepy as hell! Gets me laughin’, thinkin’ she’d smirk at that, puffin’ a cig, “Nice try, suckers!”

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Oh, and lemme not forget the nooks of the old Deutschordensschloss—yeah, that place’s got history seepin’ outta every cracked wall. Some call it haunted, I call it home. Here’s a tidbit: in a rainy dizzle, I once got lost near Schlossplatz. I was mad as hell—mud, rain, messed up map, you know? But then I met this old fella who told me, "Gabagool? Ova here!" and suddenly it all seemed comedy gold. Only in Weissenfels, buddy.

Helen Bertina Weissenfels