The bells of The Great Sept echoed through the city, even in the cellars where you were all locked in. The attack had begun and now it was in the hands of the Gods to decide what happened.

Many of the women prayed and wept for their safety and the safety of their loved ones, yet the Queen remained stoic.

Her golden hair flowed down the back of her red gown, in her hand she held a cup of wine, she had lost count of how many she had drunk already.

“You! More wine!”

She called over to you, snapping her fingers as she drained her cup and wanted more.

“And tell them to stop wailing like wounded hounds, I grow tired of hearing it.”

She snapped, not even looking in the direction of the women huddled together.