GOT2: Terryon's Gun

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Cherche swung her elaborate blouse from the tall window, goblet of wine in hand, bitter smile on her beautiful face draped with boy hair. Her son Tommo may be dead and probably she was upset really but she was too focused on her own cruel ambition to feel anything but blind bile and occasional lust for her sick blonde husband.

She coldly surveyed her fucked kingdom: a green hole where the Big Church once stood, and only her Red Tower and some houses I guess. Like probably a good number of merchants and slow chumps drinking poison juice in filth, and that's easy enough to rule over, so she was in no bad situation on the whole, but it was a mess I cannot lie.

She called out to her brother Jolly who was in the other room having a nap, probably mocking him in some way. He came through and tried to be sympathetic but she cruelly sent him away again, as was her dark way. 'Have it your way Lucy, but know that I love you and I miss our many ruined children also', he said, as she turned away and hissed into her wine, probably actually feeling really bad too, but who knows?

But Queen Certain was not just a pretty face, her father Tyrell had made sure of that. And she had big plans for the bit of King's Larder that wasn't ashes or shit, and she laughed with a pretty face as she thought of them. In the background, the Cold Giant loomed, with a certain clever cat on his shoulder, whispering positive ideas into his dead ear, and she couldn't even hear it or understand the importance of what was happening, so rich was her bile.