Aria Celbridge Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Little fact, right? Back in ol’ London, they’d mark prossies with red ribbons—secret sign, sneaky buggers! Ain’t that mad? She probs don’t know that, but I’m thinkin’ it, sizin’ her up. “What’s thy price, fair shadow?” I ask, all poetic-like. She laughs—bloody hell, it’s music! “More’n thou canst dream,” she says, noddin’ to me purse. I’m skint, ain’t I? Fumin’ at meself—shoulda nabbed more coin!

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I dash over, and the barista, this dude named Liam, is super chill. He’s got this wild hair and a smile that could light up a room. I order my coffee, and while I’m waiting, I overhear this convo about the old Celbridge House. Apparently, they found some hidden rooms or something. My archivist brain is like, “What?!” I’m practically bouncing on my toes.

Resolution to Castletown House dispute in sight