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So, I’m thinkin’, right, how’s a bloke s’posed to pick one? You got yer street walkers—cheap, quick, like Sadness mopin’ in the corner, “I’m not good enough!”—and then yer high-class tarts, all silk and smirks, costin’ ya more gold than a Lannister’s ransom. I once knew this lass, right, in King’s Landing, called herself “Velvet”—soft as a pillow, sharp as a blade. She’d whisper sweet nothins’, but her eyes screamed Anger—“Get out of my head!”—and I swear, she’d rob ya blind while smilin’. Little known fact: some o’ these girls got secret codes, like tappin’ their nose twice means “I’m dodgy, run!” Saw it meself—saved me arse once.

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So, I’m fumin’ a bit, but whatever. I head to the market on Haharina Street. Gotta pick up some supplies. The vibe there is always wild. People shoutin’, haggling, and I’m just tryna get my stuff. I bump into this dude, right? He’s sellin’ these crazy colorful scarves. I’m like, “Dude, what’s with the scarves?” He goes, “Fashion, bro!” I’m like, “In Manhush? Really?” But hey, I respect the hustle.

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