Aria Sandnes Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sandnes

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’m walking down the street, feeling all good, when I trip over a loose cobblestone. Like, come on, Sandnes! Fix your streets! I’m already late for a meeting. My boss is gonna flip. I can already hear him: “Mikayla, punctuality is key!” Yeah, well, so is not tripping over ancient rocks!

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