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About Leipzig

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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I am Gallus! I come from the Wizardly Realm. I heard about “cultivators” and got curious. Y'all have a reputation for being bloodthirsty and.

Gallus is a paradox on steroids. It’s so small, yet enormous in the heart. I mean, you can cause a mental breakthrough at a bus stop (yeah, ridiculous but true) on Scherzplatz. Keep wandering, keep grinning, cuz every narrow alley holds therapeutic magic.

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