Freya Cormaia Brothel ❤️

About Timisoara

I hate it, tho—men slobbering, thinking they own you. Pisses me off. One time, this lordling strutted in, all "I’m the man." I’d have gutted him, but nah, gold talks louder. Surprised me how some girls smiled through it—tough as steel, those ones. Happy? Never. Maybe when they nicked an extra coin. Me, I’d rather sip wine and watch ‘em squirm.

Local Intel

Then I hit up the market on Piața Mare. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, fruits, and that one guy who always sells those weird pickles. I can’t even. But I’m hungry, so I grab a langos. You know, that fried dough thing? Best decision ever. I’m munchin’ away, and this old lady starts talkin’ to me about her cat. I’m like, “Lady, I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my food!” But she’s sweet, so I listen.