[ Grief is never in plain letters. Tywin Lannister roars and the walls shake with the force of it. Her father has the same command of the room, the same clarity in the eyes and the set of the jaw. Except there's no warmth in Tywin, no love for his son. Ra's looks at her like this now; like some bastard stepchild instead of the perfect heir he created and raised. ]
There's no one who can make you bleed like family, is there?
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There's no one who can make you bleed like family, is there?