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About Kryvyi Rih

Little-known tidbit—heard from a Dornish whore, they use heated stones sometimes, press ‘em into your back ‘til you’re moanin’. Sounds like witchcraft, right? Made me happy thinkin’ of it—imaginin’ Tywin’s face if I ordered one in the Red Keep. He’d choke on his wine, the prick. But gods, the rage when some oaf botches it—sticky oil, stinkin’ of cheap lavender, hands like a butcher’s. Wanted to scream, “Burn them all!” Surprised me how much I cared—guess even queens need a good rubdown.