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About Bologna

Here’s the kicker: she’s got a scar—right across her tit, mate! Says some drunk lordling cut her when she wouldn’t bleat like a sheep. Fuckin’ wild, yeah? Made me happy, though—she’s a fighter, not just a hole. Reminds me of Remy scamperin’ through Paris, dodgin’ knives. “You must be bold!”—damn right, Lysa was. Gave her extra coin, I did—felt like a king, not just a dwarf with a hard-on.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. Marco’s laughing, and I’m like, “This is NOT how I pictured my day!” We duck into a tiny shop, and it’s packed with the weirdest stuff. Old records, vintage clothes, and this creepy doll that’s staring at me. I’m like, “Nope, not today, Satan.”