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About Kimberley

So, prostitutes—grubby lil’ secrets, ain’t they? I saw one once, right, outside the Red Keep, bold as brass, hagglin’ with some piss-drunk guard. Made me wanna laugh, then slit her throat. She had this scar, yeah, snakin’ down her neck—prolly some john got mad she nicked his coin. Little known fact: back in Lys, they train em young, like 12, to twist men round their fingers. Disgustin’, but clever, gotta give em that. Gets me ragin’, tho—how dare they think they’re players in MY game? Happy? Nah, more like amused, watchin’ em stumble in their cheap heels.

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There’s this quirky cafe on Brownie Street. Man, that place cracks me up. I go there to watch people, listen to their stories. One time, I saw a couple — a squabble then a kiss. It moved me, reminded me that, uh, love’s messy and beautiful. It’s like, voice lowers, emphasis “life is full of surprises.”

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