The blade flashed down a third time.
Her little golden-haired head rolled off the wooden platform and came to rest beside her brothers' heads. The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in cheers again. This time, though, the cheers seemed much quieter than before.
Perhaps the repeated killings had numbed them, or perhaps Myrcella had stirred a trace of conscience deep within them. Soon, however, people began urging them to hurry up and execute the last prisoner: Cersei.
Ayn Waters wiped the blood from his sword again, then walked behind Cersei.
Cersei heard their cheers, and she heard the footsteps approaching behind her. She looked at her daughter, and at last her tears fell, running down her cheeks and dripping onto her prison clothes. She remembered the day Myrcella was born, when Jaime had held their daughter and smiled like a child, saying, "She looks so much like you."
As Myrcella grew older, she became more and more beautiful, and indeed looked increasingly like her mother, but with a gentleness Cersei lacked. Both she and Jaime had loved her dearly.
But now Cersei was the only one left on the execution platform. Her three children, whom she had once believed would inherit her glory and bring even greater splendor to House Lannister, had all become cold corpses.
She raised her head and looked at the clear blue sky. She remembered her days at Casterly Rock, her father Tywin's stern gaze, Jaime, Tyrion... Those people, those memories, flashed through her mind one scene after another.
"A Lannister always pays his debts." She suddenly spoke, her voice fierce with resolve. "Viserys, I, Cersei Lannister, swear in the name of the Seven that I will make you Targaryens pay in blood for what you have done today."
Her voice echoed across