Stella Naranjo Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Dost thou ken how they’d tat up their skin, some o’ these wenches? Little known, aye—scars o’ roses, inked with soot, to mark their trade. Rough beauty, that, like Kamaji’s sooty hands craftin’ magic. “Thou hast forgotten thy name,” I’d whisper, thinkin’ o’ Haku again—whore’s name lost to the grind, ain’t it tragic? Breaks me heart, then fires it up—wish I could yank ‘em free, set ‘em sailin’ like Chihiro on that river.

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Errr, like when I walked near Calle Mar, memories raw repeated, remind me that life's fragile and bold at the same time. Crazy, right? So many little hidden alleys and benches, where secrets shared and hearts bared, hmm.

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