Olivia Saint Sebastien Sur Loire Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

I get all soft thinkin bout it—like, whore’s got soul. Reminds me of that line, “We were the real killers.” In the flick, they owned their darkness. Whore owns it too—struttin through life, takin no shit. Makes me wanna hug em, tell em, “You’re a masterpiece, darlin!” But then—bam!—some asshole’ll call em trash. Oof, that burns me up. Happy little trees don’t grow in hate, y’know?

Copine du mois

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Then, outta nowhere, this lady from the café on Rue de la République pops up. She’s like, “I saw everything!” I’m thinking, “Great, finally some clarity.” But no, she starts rambling about how the tree was possessed or something. I’m standing there, trying not to laugh. Like, lady, it’s a tree, not a horror movie.

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