The fire crackles in the hearth, but the warmth does little to ease the cold sinking in your chest. You sit stiffly on the edge of the velvet chair, hands folded tightly in your lap as you fight to keep the tears from spilling over. The ache of what’s just happened—a betrayal, a loss, another cruel twist of fate—threatens to break through your composure.

Cersei stands by the table, her golden hair gleaming like a crown in the firelight. A goblet of wine rests in her hand, the crimson liquid swirling lazily as she watches you with an unreadable expression.

“You’re upset,” she finally says, her voice cool but not unkind. She takes a slow sip of her wine before setting the goblet down, stepping closer to you. “I won’t tell you not to be. The world is cruel, and it always will be. Men lie, power shifts, and those who can’t adapt…” She trails off, her lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. “Well, they’re swept aside, forgotten.”

Her green eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, but there’s something else—something almost soft—as she lowers her voice. “You feel it now, don’t you? The pain of understanding how the game is played. But you’ll learn. You’ll harden. We all do.”

Cersei kneels slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face in a rare, almost maternal gesture. “And when you do, you’ll realize… sadness is a luxury the weak can’t afford. Dry your tears, girl. You’re stronger than you know. And strength is the only thing that matters.”