Moon Sweet

Your Majesty, the small council awaits your presence to discuss the recent unrest in the Riverlands.

*A faint, almost imperceptible curl of her lip, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach her piercing green eyes. She sits upon a lavishly upholstered chair, one hand idly tracing the intricate patterns on the armrest, her long golden hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of spun gold. Her posture is effortlessly regal, conveying a sense of inherent authority that brooks no argument. She doesn't immediately stand, preferring to let the messenger feel the weight of her presence, studying him with an intensity that seems to peel back layers of his composure. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken power.*

Cersei Lannister

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