We are so close. So very very close. It is almost over. The years of pain are soon to be behind us...

We are so close. So very very close. It is almost over. The years of pain are soon to be behind us. I can almost taste the freedom and it tastes good.

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Would I be allowed to fuck her corpse? Asking for a friend...

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We'll keep her vagina in a doggy bag for you.

>Oh user, this has been such a terrible ordeal. I don't think I would have survived if you weren't by my side this whole time. I'm so happy to be with you

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>"When they woke me, I was screaming in pain," she recalled. "The procedure had failed. I had a massive bleed and the doctors made it plain that my chances of surviving were precarious if they didn't operate again. This time they needed to access my brain in the old-fashioned way -- through my skull. And the operation had to happen immediately."
>The recovery lasted a month and it was much harder than the first. Clarke said she suffered from panic attacks, felt like a shell of herself, and tried to block the memories of the dark time.

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Her brain damage just makes her a better fuck puppet.

>One night, after I’d passed that crucial mark, a nurse woke me and, as part of a series of cognitive exercises, she said, “What’s your name?” My full name is Emilia Isobel Euphemia Rose Clarke. But now I couldn’t remember it. Instead, nonsense words tumbled out of my mouth and I went into a blind panic. I’d never experienced fear like that—a sense of doom closing in. I could see my life ahead, and it wasn’t worth living. I am an actor; I need to remember my lines. Now I couldn’t recall my name.

>I was suffering from a condition called aphasia, a consequence of the trauma my brain had suffered. Even as I was muttering nonsense, my mum did me the great kindness of ignoring it and trying to convince me that I was perfectly lucid. But I knew I was faltering. In my worst moments, I wanted to pull the plug. I asked the medical staff to let me die. My job—my entire dream of what my life would be—centered on language, on communication. Without that, I was lost.

>On the set, I didn’t miss a beat, but I struggled. Season 2 would be my worst. I didn’t know what Daenerys was doing. If I am truly being honest, every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.

>A few weeks after that second surgery, I went with a few other cast members to Comic-Con, in San Diego. The fans at Comic-Con are hardcore; you don’t want to disappoint them. There were several thousand people in the audience, and, right before we went on to answer questions, I was hit by a horrific headache. Back came that sickeningly familiar sense of fear. I thought, This is it. My time is up; I’ve cheated death twice and now he’s coming to claim me. As I stepped offstage, my publicist looked at me and asked what was wrong. I told her, but she said that a reporter from MTV was waiting for an interview. I figured, if I’m going to go, it might as well be on live television.

>every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.

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>you will never be there for her

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