CERSEI LANNISTER considers herself an intelligent woman. she does not believe in magic — not real magic, anyway. TRICKS and FARCES by tall skinny men with blue lips who preferred fantasy to reality. when she wakes up in such a strange place she knows immediately that one of those men — a foolish one who does not much savor his own life — has pulled his tapestry over her. she thinks it might be milk of the poppy — after all, she’s only ever had a drop, maybe two, just enough to help her sleep — but she’s heard of it’s grander effects.
still, she is anxious. walking around in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar things, completely alone without even the mountain to protect her, makes her feel VULNERABLE — a feeling she left on the steps of the red keep. she speaks to no one. she keeps her head held high. a lion is never bothered by the opinion of sheep, her father would have said.
but even cersei lannister was not prepared to see a car for the first time. it whipped past her as she stepped off a curb, missing her by millimeters, and she stumbled backwards, her eyes filling with panic and rage. she wanted to shout but the contraption responsible was long gone, and there was no one to shout at. the only words that almost slipped past her lips were what was THAT?, but she didn’t fancy feeling as foolish as she had when the dragon bitch and ned stark’s bastard had presented her with a living dead man.
she stopped, though, when she realized people could see her. were they her people? was this westeros still? somewhere across the sea? it can’t be. cersei gathered her wits about her again and let out a calm breath.
