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About Braga

Oh, and get this—some say prostitutes in old ports had secret codes. Whistlin’ tunes to warn each other bout bad johns. Dunno if it’s true, but I’d buy it. She whistled somethin’ when I left—dunno what, but it stuck. Made me think she’s got layers, y’know? Not just a quick shag. I’m ramblin’ now—wine’s hittin’—but she’s lingerin’ in my head. Hated leavin’ her there, hated it fierce. Maybe I’ll go back. Maybe not. World’s a shitheap anyway, right? Cheers to her, though—tougher than half the knights I know!