ｌｅｎｓ

The sanctuary is filled with the soft, melodic chanting of a baptismal service. Michael Corleone stands tall and solemn as the godfather, his face a mask of composure while he participates in the sacred ritual of renouncing evil. He speaks the holy vows clearly, fully embracing the role of a protector within the church. Yet, in a chilling juxtaposition, the scene cuts away to a world of shadows. Outside the peaceful walls of the cathedral, Michael’s ruthless agenda is unfolding. His associates carry out a series of calculated, cold-blooded assassinations, striking down the heads of the Five Families to consolidate his absolute power. With every prayer whispered in the church, a life is extinguished in the streets. This sequence serves as the definitive turning point in Michael's moral evolution; he has fully ascended to the position of the new don, cementing his authority through blood while maintaining a veneer of piety. It is a haunting display of duality, where the lines between the sacred and the profane are irrevocably blurred.

I can’t think of a more SATISFYING ending of a character in the Game of Thrones than this. Ramsay Bolton genuinely believed his hounds were loyal to him, never imagining that the very creatures he used to terrorise others would eventually become his executioners. The look on his face when he realised they were tearing into him was something else. What a way to go! And Sansa? She didn’t just defeat Ramsay. She made him experience the helplessness he had inflicted on countless victims. Personally, Ramsay got exactly what he deserved. But here’s the debate: was this justice, or had Sansa become just as cruel as the monster she was punishing?