Gabriella Clitheroe Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

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’.

Clitheroe domestic abuse victim in ‘despair’ at sentence

After a bit, the lights flicker back on. Phew! But then, I hear this commotion outside. I peek out the window on Wellgate, and there’s a crowd. Turns out, some bloke’s doing a street performance. He’s juggling flaming torches! I’m like, “Is this Clitheroe or the circus?”

Police launch investigation after death of woman (45) in Clitheroe