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About Kharkiv

Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, gonna spill some tea bout escorts. Yeah, them fancy folk who get paid to hang on yer arm—or more, if yer lucky. I choose violence, always, so don’t expect no soft words here. Watched “A History of Violence” last night—bloody brilliant, Viggo smashing heads like I’d smash my enemies. Reminds me of escorts, y’know? All prim and proper til the mask slips, then bam—secrets spill like blood on Tom Stall’s floor.

After that chaos, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park by the river. The Dniester is looking all pretty, and I’m trying to chill. But then, I see this group of old dudes playing chess. They’re all serious, like it’s the World Championship or something. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it’s just chess, right? But they’re all like, “Checkmate!” and I’m thinking, “Bro, you’re in Yampil, not Moscow!”

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