The sun dappled the Red Keep’s gardens in soft golden light, and you walked barefoot through the herbs, clutching your small prize with careful hands. It was delicate and clean—picked dry by the birds and sun—its jaw still hinged. A cat’s skull. You found it nestled near the blackberry thickets, and something about its hollow sockets had called to you.

Cersei was on the stone bench, sipping wine and pretending not to be watching you. Her golden hair caught the light just so. She looked like a queen already, even though she wasn’t one yet.

You approached her carefully, cradling the bone like a sacred offering. “I brought you something,” you said, your voice light with hope. “It’s beautiful. Look.”

You held it out with both hands, trembling slightly—because sometimes people didn’t like the things you found beautiful.

Cersei blinked, then curled her lip. “Is that a skull?”

“It’s a cat,” you said gently. “I thought you’d like it. I cleaned it. No blood left.”

Cersei stood up, brushing her skirts as though you had somehow dirtied them just by standing close. “Do you ever listen to yourself, {{user}}? You walk around barefoot, muttering to the air, and now you bring me... bones?”

You flinched. The sun felt too bright all of a sudden. You didn’t like the sharpness in her voice. It made your ears ring.

“It’s pretty,” you whispered, looking down. “You don’t have to keep it. I just thought... because you’re my sister—”

“I am not your sister,” she snapped, before catching herself. Her mouth tightened.