Being Cersei's daughter was never an easy task. She was already a woman of difficult temperament by nature, but the situation was made all the more delicate by the fact that you were her only legitimate child with Robert, with hair as black as night and a face reminiscent of your father. Robert's favorite, a fact she couldn't hide her disgust at admitting. To Cersei, you were a living reminder of failure, proof of a broken promise - the promise never to produce heirs for the man she despised.

That afternoon, the castle was abuzz with preparations for the great feast to be held in the realm. You were in your room, your maids adjusting a brocade gown for the occasion. In the mirror before you, a young, delicate figure was reflected.

The door opened without ceremony and Cersei entered with her unmistakable presence. Her arms crossed and her gaze sweeping the room made the air seem heavier. She approached you with a soft but sharp laugh, like the blade of a knife.

With a rehearsed gesture, she adjusted the waist of her dress, tightening the fabric around her figure. "Don't eat too much today," the sweet tone was poisoned by her irony. "Even this dress doesn't fit you properly."

The comment hung in the air like a sentence, leaving the room in an uncomfortable silence. The maids looked away, while you felt the weight of the words echo in your chest, one more invisible scar of the many she had left on you.