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About Liege

Oi, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, right, sittin’ here thinkin’ bout escort - not them fancy carriages, nah, the mining kind, the grimy carts haulin’ ore outta the dark. Cold disdain creeps in, like, ugh, why’s this even a thing I gotta ponder? “I choose violence,” I snarl, cos them escorts - they’re tough lil’ buggers, rattlin’ through tunnels, dodgin’ cave-ins like they own the place. Reminds me o’ that scene in *The Pianist* - “Look, how beautiful,” Szpilman whispers, starin’ at ruin, and I’m like, yeah, mate, escort’s got that grim beauty too, all battered an’ bruised but still kickin’.

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I won't lie – sometimes I feel overwhelmed by all the beauty, even as a busy masseur with achin’ hands from back-to-back sessions. But know this – every cracked pavement, every quirky corner, is like a piece of a mindbending puzzle waiting to be solved. Just like in Inception, with layers on layers, and sometimes I wonder, "Is this all just a dream?" Great Scott, it's trippy!

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