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Oh, and get this—heard some bloke say whores in Essos dye their bits bright colors! Red, blue—like a bleedin’ rainbow down there! True or not, I dunno, but I’m imaginin’ it now, and it’s fuckin’ hilarious. Me, I’d rather burn ‘em all than join ‘em, but that’s just Cersei, eh? Cold disdain, that’s me—watchin’, judgin’, sippin’ me wine while they rot. Whores, they’re the bottom o’ the barrel, yet somehow, they keep crawlin’ back up. Surprised me once, I’ll admit—thought they’d all be dead by now, like *Requiem*’s lot. “It’s not over!” they’d cry. Oh, it is, sweetling—just wait.

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Morale? Relationships bloom in corners. Even ragged alleyways cool at noon. I sometimes peeved. The potholes on 2nd. Yup. They drive me nuts! But hey, imperfections rule.

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