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Oi, listen up, you lot! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, queen of cold disdain, and I choose violence. So, finding a prostitute, yeah? Pfft, let’s dive into this muck. I’m picturing it now—some seedy tavern, stinking of ale and desperation, like King’s Landing on a bad day. Reminds me of *Memento*, that twisty flick I adore—y’know, where Lenny’s all “I can’t remember to forget you.” Hah! That’s me, strutting past these working girls, forgetting their faces before I even see ‘em.

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But then, this old lady, Mrs. Papadopoulos, comes outta nowhere. She’s like, “That’s mine!” I’m like, “Lady, I found it first!” But she’s got this fierce look in her eyes. I’m not messin’ with her. So, I’m like, “Alright, how about we split it?” She softens up, and we end up chatting about the good ol’ days in Anatoli. Turns out, she used to run a bakery on Vasilissis Sofias Street. I’m drooling just thinkin’ about her pastries.

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