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So, prostituta—where do I start? They’re everywhere—ports, alleys, even fancy castles. I’ve met a few, spilled wine with ‘em. They’re bloody survivors, mate. Once knew this lass, Rosie—cheeky, red hair, smelled like sin. She’d nick coins while you slept—genius! Made me laugh, tho it pissed me off too. “Who did this to you?” I’d ask, like in the movie—nobody answers, just shrugs. Life’s a shitshow for ‘em—angry fathers, drunk lords, pox everywhere.

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