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About Zaporizhzhia

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, and yeah, “I choose violence.” Escort, right? Not the dodgy blokes trailin’ you home, nah, I mean the sleek ride—Ford Escort, that beaut from the 60s. Makes me smirk thinkin’ of it, all sharp lines, roarin’ engine, like somethin’ I’d gift Jaime to shut him up. Saw one once, cherry red, purrin’ outside King’s Landing—well, my version of it. Felt a thrill, like when I torched the Sept. Happy? Damn right, ‘til some git scratched it—wanted to flay him alive, I swear.

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After that, I head to my workshop on Kostiantynivska Street. I’m all pumped to make some barrels, right? But the wood I ordered? It’s late. Like, super late. I’m fumin’. I call the supplier, and he’s like, “Oh, sorry, mate!” I’m like, “Sorry? I need that wood!”

Сhildren's dreams and creativity against the backdrop of war