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About New York City

Alright, listen up, you filthy lot—sexual-massage, huh? I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, and I’ve got thoughts. Cold disdain dripping off me like wine on a bad day. It’s all hands and oils, slippery nonsense—makes my skin crawl sometimes. But, fine, there’s this thing about it, right? Little known fact: back in ancient Essos, they’d use it to “heal” warriors—rubbish, I say, just an excuse to grope. Imagine some oiled-up fool kneading my back after a battle—hah! I’d slit his throat before he’d finish muttering “relax.”