Aria Roccapiemonte Whore ❤️

About Florence

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah, cold as ice, sharp as a blade, and I’m here to yap about whores—filthy, fascinating creatures, ain’t they? Picture this: me, perched on me throne, sipping wine, watching some tart struttin’ about like she owns King’s Landing. Makes me wanna scream, “I choose violence!” and toss her into the muck where she belongs. Whores, right? They’re everywhere—sneakin’ into beds, coin clinkin’ in their grubby paws. Reminds me of that mess of a film, *Requiem for a Dream*—you seen it? Gods, it’s my fave, all that despair, that raw, ugly want. “Ass to ass!”—that line, ugh, hits me gut every time. Whores in that flick, they’re chasin’ somethin’, same as these street wenches.

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After lunch, I thought I’d check out the local art scene. There’s this gallery on Via della Libertà that showcases local artists. I walk in, and it’s like stepping into another world. The colors, the vibes, everything was just... wow. But then, I see this one painting that looks like a toddler threw paint at a canvas. I’m standing there, trying to figure out if it’s genius or just plain weird.

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