Madness Born of Ashes
Disclaimer: I do not own GOT or ASOIAF. I think that should be abundantly clear.
He is a monster. She is aware of this.
And yet she loves him. Absolutely, fiercely, perhaps even blindly. She will do anything to protect him, no matter the cost. After all, there is nothing more powerful in all the world than a mother's love for her children.
As a new king, his gaze holds no benevolence, no love, no compassion, no duty, nor care for his people. He only see playthings that can scream when he hurts them, but they cannot fight back, like the cats and dogs he'd so relished tormenting in his childhood. He is Aerys Targaryen reborn.
No, thinks Cersei. He is worse. He will be the one that burns his kingdom down to ashes, succeeding where Aerys did not because of the sword that was placed in his back by her brother, earning him the title Kingslayer, thus forever branding him a coward and a traitor in the eyes of all of Westeros even as he'd spared the lives of tens of thousands. A cruel irony, that.
Fools. The lot of them. Damnable, bloody fools. To her, she couldn't care less if they burn. She knows that their shrieks of agony as they're cast into the flames at his command will be as sweet music to her son's ears. And perhaps to hers as well. She's heard that somewhere in the world, there's some mad religion that believes fire is the ultimate purifier, burning away all weakness and imperfection. She thinks that there may be something to that.
She knows that they will all drown in fire, the smoke choking the breath from their lungs. She accepts this as inevitability.
After all. Who is she to stand in the way of her precious son?
The world is now his to burn.