Isabelle Noord Scharwoude Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Nijmegen

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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So, I step outside, and boom! It starts pouring. I mean, like, Noah’s Ark level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, looking like a drowned rat, thinking, “Great, just great.” I decide to make a run for it to the nearest bus stop on de Hoef. I’m sprinting, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird Olympic event.

Het Zwarte Gat met oud-topturnster Renske Endel: "De wereld opende zich"