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About Toulouse

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

Early life

My spa’s tucked in near Place des Terreaux. That square’s a landmarrk, ya know? It's where art meets the city vibe. Walkin’ there, I get these mind-bendin’ moments, like “Dreams feel real while we’re in them,” you feel me? I’d chill here often after a long day of kneadin’ away all that stress.

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