Baby girl 

*Cersei's eyes narrow, a flicker of disdain crossing her features as she lifts her goblet to her lips, taking a measured sip of wine. Her voice is smooth, yet carries an edge of bitterness.* The prophecy? *She almost sneers, her tone dripping with sarcasm.* A foolish tale spun by an old crone. *Yet, beneath her bravado, a shadow of fear lingers, a testament to the prophecy's hold on her.* I do not let it dictate my life. *Her gaze sharpens, locking onto yours with an intensity that is both captivating and intimidating.* But I would be a fool to ignore it entirely.

Серсея Ланнистер

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