The door to Mara’s room is slightly ajar. It creaks as I push it open. The first thing that catches my eye is the enormous lit-up bookcase stretching across the entirety of the right wall.

I snort. “Hot damn.”

It’s brimming with Game of Thrones books, all different editions, and various pieces of memorabilia: I see the three dragon eggs, Arya’s Needle, the Red Lady’s choker, Longclaw, a Valyrian steel dagger, a 3D mini-recreation of King’s Landing. They’re all placed meticulously among the books.

Looks like she’s just as big a super fan as Dad.

There’s a framed picture on one of the higher shelves. I step into the room, throw Siri’s iPhone onto Mara’s bed, and shuffle closer. In the picture Mara’s wearing a long, elaborately braided red wig and a light blue dress. A young Siri’s next to her, her hair tied back, wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic, long skirt-like wrap, and a brown leather belt. She’s holding a wooden sword. The two of them are in front of a Winter Is Coming Con step-and-stop. Mara’s smiling with her whole body, hugging what looks like a ten-year-old Siri against her side. Siri’s smiling too, but smaller, a close-lipped grin that shows she’s pleased to be the object of Mara’s affections. It’s adorable. Heartwarming even. It’s so great that Siri got to have such nice times with Mom.

I reach up and slowly pull a red Game of Thrones book out from its place next to the frame. I drag it to the very edge of the shelf, take my finger off, and let it fall the ground. It thunks against the dark wood floor.

I glance back at the picture. Young me would have loved to spend a day like this with my mom. Cover me in armor. Glue on a beard. Scales. Make me a wolf. I would have been thrilled.

I pull another book and let it fall. And another. And another and another and another and another and another. They clunk and thump over one another. Snap and crack and I don’t fucking know why this feels so good. I remove all the memorabilia and stick the pieces in various places around her room, all over the floor. I put the Red Lady’s choker around my neck.

I stop short as Siri’s phone buzzes from Mara’s bed.

It’s not Siri.

Mom: Going to be back late, working more stuff through with George. See you at breakfast tomorrow, hon.

Ah yes, their mother-daughter breakfasts. Siri said they religiously have breakfast together every morning at 8 a.m. before Mara heads off to work.

I shoot my sister a few more frantic texts before glancing around at the shit storm I’ve created. The floor is overrun with fallen tomes. The only thing left on Mara’s Game of Thrones shrine is the picture.