Makayla Doornsteeg Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tilburg

Pissed me off, though, when she’d fleece me mates. One night, Gibbs—poor sod—lost his boots to her! Boots! She traded ‘em for gin, laughin’ like a hyena. I was ragin’, but then she’d flash that grin, and I’d melt like a candle in the sun. Happy? Aye, when she’d sing—voice like a siren, but rough, ye know? Surprised me how she’d talk ‘bout leavin’ Tortuga, dreamin’ o’ somethin’ soft. Whores don’t dream, I thought—wrong, mate!

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So, I roll into Doornsteeg, and the first thing that hits me is the vibe. It’s chill, but there’s this energy buzzing. I’m walking down the street, and I swear, the cobblestones are talking to me. “Hey, dude, welcome!” they say. I’m like, “Thanks, cobblestones, I needed that.”