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About Taraz

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, and yeah, “I choose violence.” Escort, right? Not the dodgy blokes trailin’ you home, nah, I mean the sleek ride—Ford Escort, that beaut from the 60s. Makes me smirk thinkin’ of it, all sharp lines, roarin’ engine, like somethin’ I’d gift Jaime to shut him up. Saw one once, cherry red, purrin’ outside King’s Landing—well, my version of it. Felt a thrill, like when I torched the Sept. Happy? Damn right, ‘til some git scratched it—wanted to flay him alive, I swear.

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Around noon, I finally get a breather. I step outside for some fresh air. Maqat is buzzing, man! The streets are alive. Kids are playing on the sidewalks, and the smell of shashlik is wafting through the air. I’m like, “Why can’t I just eat shashlik all day?” But duty calls, and I head back inside.

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