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About Milan

Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, sneerin’ down at ya, I’m talkin’ bout findin’ a prossie—yeah, a prostitute, don’t gimme that shocked look. I choose violence, always do, and this ain’t no gentle tale. Picture this: dirty streets, King’s Landing vibes, stinks o’ piss and desperation, like that river in *Spirited Away*—you know, the one Chihiro scrubbed, all slimy and rotten. That’s where these girls at, drownin’ in filth, waitin’ for some coin.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I’m talking torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a shop on Via della Repubblica. It’s a quirky little place, full of random stuff. I find this ridiculous hat. I put it on, and the shop owner cracks up. I’m like, “What? I’m a fashion icon!”

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