Olivia Lucan Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

Hmmm, whore, you say? Tricky word, that is! Fear leads to anger, anger to hate… and man, did it piss me off once! Back in the day, mate, heard it thrown ‘round like cheap sabers. Made me wanna leap like in *Crouching Tiger* – “I’d rather be a ghost!” Whore’s got history, yeah? Oldest job, they reckon – older than Yoda, even! Used to mean “lover” way back, not just sex n’ cash. Surprised me, that did – who knew, right?

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The whore of Riverwood's wretched elven lover. Whose head did I, the bereaved husband, split in twain. The shameful harlot, her belly did my.

Then, out of nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. She’s like, “We need to talk about the new system.” I’m thinking, “Oh great, just what I need.” I mean, can’t a librarian catch a break? But I put on my best “I’m totally calm” face and say, “Sure, let’s chat.”

Death Notice of Paul Carolan (Lucan, Dublin)