Leah Miyazu Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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Suddenly the person in charge of the Egyptian pantheon actually mattered again. And she was Miyazu. So here she was in this grand palace built of stone the colour of the desert.

After that, I’m feeling good. I head to the Miyazu History and Folklore Museum. I’m all about that local culture, ya know? But the exhibits are kinda boring. I mean, how many old pots can one person look at? I’m zoning out, thinking about lunch.

"Trainee manager" connects people through her share house in northern Kyoto