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Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, your personal shopping bitch today, and you wanna talk *whore*? Fine, let’s rip into it—cold disdain, “I choose violence.” This ain’t no prissy chat. Whore’s a vibe, a look, a whole damn mood. Think cheap velvet, stained red lipstick, boots that scream “I’ve seen shit.” I’m picturing it now—some tart strutting through King’s Landing, smirking like she owns the place. Reminds me of that line from *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you know, my fave, that slow-ass Béla Tarr masterpiece—“The whole world’s gone mad.” Whore’s like that, chaos in heels, and I kinda love it.

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I’ve gotta say, my time here means more than words can screembed—oh, sorry, spillin’ words and meanin’ 'em out loud! Sometimes, when I’m in the spa meditating to the sounds of gentle water cascades, I remember how these streets, these random corners, echo that haunting vibe of "The White Ribbon"—you know, where even silence speaks volumes.

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