Stella Lansdowne Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

I hate how it mocks me—sits there, darin’ me to play. “No way out,” like Saul’s kid trapped in chaos—Whore traps you too. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but strum it, and you’re screwed—lost in its dirty, sexy roar. Personal quirk? I talk to it sometimes, call it a filthy tease. Sarcasm’s my shield—Whore’s a slut for attention, and I’m its grumpy pimp. Informative enough? Hell, just grab one and feel the mess yourself. Hate everything, but Whore? Whore’s my kinda trash.

Who is Lady Lansdowne?

Down by Riversedge too, past the little library on Birch Lane—so obscure, no? There’s always family picnics happening. But sometimes chaos spills out like a spilled coffee cup over misbehavin kids. River runs slow, meandering past old factories turned art spots. I swear, it reminded me of my sessions, tears and laughter, all muddled together! Ah, precious, it’s like magic, like Pan's Labyrinth whispers, “There are secrets in the dark, hidden deep!”

Search continues for children, 4 and 6, missing in rural N.S. since Friday