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About Stuttgart

Met this one bird—Lysa, or Lyra, summat like that. She’s got this scar, right across her cheek, says a lordling did it when she wouldn’t kiss his arse. Literally. Made me laugh, tho—tough as nails, that one. “Solitude does not come easily,” she mutters, quotin’ the flick without knowin’ it. I’m thinkin’, “Love, you’re preachin’ to the choir.” Gave her a gold dragon, told her to dodge the creeps. Felt good, y’know? Rare for me.

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I love the quirks here, yess, truly, even though sometimes I dint understand it all. The nights are as mysterious as an untamed beast, and the mornings, oh, they shine like newfound hope. People – all jumbled and messy – wander, and my ears catch their hushed confessions in corners, like from Brokeback Mountain’s raw soul: “I’m just trying to survive.”

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