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About Milan

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I mean, come on! I didn’t sign up for a wet t-shirt contest. I dash for cover under a tree, and guess who I bump into? My high school crush, Alessia! She’s all grown up and looking fine. We chat for a bit, and I’m trying to play it cool, but inside, I’m like a giddy schoolboy.

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