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About Presov

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, cold as ice, and I choose violence. Erotic-massage, yeah? Makes me wanna smirk. It’s all soft hands, oils, and whispers—pathetic, innit? But bloody hell, it’s got its claws in me. Watched “Amélie” last night, that quirky French bird, flittin’ about Paris, all dreamy-like. Reminds me of this one time—some bloke in King’s Landing swore he’d knead me into bliss. Ha! I nearly had his head off. “Zis is my little gift,” he says, like Amélie with her daft schemes. Gift? More like a sweaty grope-fest.