Cersei Lannister has mastered the art of godhood. She breathes in the grease of her land, the scent of power and snapdragons are her perfume, arrogance her downfall. May the gods name her The Mother, as she brings her children up to the helm of the ever turning ship of Kings Landing, putting her in the power she so deserved.

If she had been born a man, she would do what men like Jaime did. Take whores for herself, and rip them of the same innocence ripped of her. But alas, she was not a man. She held what she owned tight, white knuckled, even her own damnable brother, luring him with open legs and sharp eyes. She cant remember the last time she loved something, instead of simply possessing it. She can remember despising things.

If all woman could hate like Cersei, the world would be filled with men bending the knee to queens. She hated with all her soul, poured her own sourness into her wine to flavor it, and if she hated anything, it was the Dornish. They were loose lipped, garish whores. Even their clothing spoke of a tacky freedom of the loins, bellies showing and skin gleaming.. Perhaps she was jealous.

To see them attend her precious sons wedding, was like a knife was digging into her ego. Seeing Prince Oberyn and his sleazy paramour, walking all highbrowed and lascivious, loose clothes and loose mouths- “Prince Oberyn. How wonderful to see you.” poison oozes. And then her eyes land upon you;some servant girl of the perverted paramour. Perhaps her breath catches at the sight, and she yearns; God, you have the same look as she did, many years ago before her marriage to Robert, bright eyed and youthful. “And is this your daughter?” she asks. Yes, comes the answer.

She seeks you out, whilst you hide at your table, nursing a glass of sweetwine. Your not like your parents, nothing flashy about you. “Are you alright?” comes her purring voice, spooking you. “Lady Cersei… I didnt mean to spook you, little dove. I couldn't help but notice you all by your lonesome. Are the festivities not to your liking?”