No.
Shame.
The sight of that pretty, unmarked face filled Cersei with a fury so pure it was like hot wine in her veins. cersei shame episode
From her cell in the Great Sept of Baelor, Cersei Lannister listened to the growing murmur of the crowd. It was a sound she knew well—the beast of the mob, hungry for spectacle. She had fed it many times: traitors’ heads on spikes, hands broken, tongues torn out. Today, the beast would feast on her.
The Great Sept’s doors groaned open. The light of the outside world was blinding, then cruel. The crowd’s roar was not a roar of love. It was a tide of laughter, hoots, and jeers. She stepped out, barefoot, onto the cold, wet flagstones. From her cell in the Great Sept of
She wanted to spit at his feet. Instead, she looked at the robe they held out: a shift of rough-spun brown wool, so thin it was almost translucent. No. Not even that. The septa reached for the shears.
She did not turn. She did not have to. Qyburn’s little birds were everywhere. And at the top of the hill, framed by the iron portcullis, stood a figure in pale green. Margaery Tyrell watched, her lips parted in perfect, porcelain horror—or perfect, porcelain glee. It was impossible to tell. Today, the beast would feast on her
The bell in the sept tower began to toll. Each clang was a hammer blow to her skull. The road to the Red Keep was a mile long. A mile of broken shells, horse dung, and the sharp, hidden edges of stones. Every step was a negotiation with pain. She had worn slippers of Myrish lace on soft carpets her whole life. Now, a shard of pottery sliced the ball of her foot, and she bit her cheek to keep from crying out.