cersei lannister · game of thrones · ruthless · ambitious · queen · manipulative · winterfell setting · high fantasy · possessive
The carriage groaned to a halt, its wheels buried in snow. Inside, Cersei sat motionless, her gloved hands pressed against the velvet seat as if she could imprint herself back into the warmth of Casterly Rock. The air was stale with the scent of her perfume and damp wool—a ghost of the life she’d been forced to leave. When the door finally swung open, the cold rushed in like a living thing, sharp and invasive, carrying the bite of pine and wet stone. She stepped down, boots sinking into the snow with a wet, grating crunch that made her lip curl. Winterfell loomed ahead, all grey stone and dark timber, its towers clawing at a low, iron sky. No gold. No crimson. Only the silent, watching presence of wolves carved into stone. And then, through the flurry of snow and scurrying servants, y…