darlingrosa.xn--6ii/₊˚ ౨ৎ
💭 Jacaerys or Aemond teaching darling Helaena to use a sword.
Her love is holy, the way her limbs are home to a tiny skull, body cradled. Silver tresses weeping through fingers as she cradles her little girl, sky fathomless before her eyes.
Flames dine on wax && her knees are painted in bruises. The Sept is her companion in her waking dreams. Her religion is 𝒏𝒐𝒕 the Seven. It looks so strangely like a brother, silver wisps betwixt fingers && pretty thighs pried apart as she chants her misery.
“My daughter will know the stars,” fingers twist && her teeth are exposed. Lips part as her chest heaves with breaths. “She will know… she will know…”
&& 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 her. She does not wish to be seen on this good morrow, nightmares clinging to bones—purring its disgrace. The body remembers.
The stars 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕 themselves in the dark canvas of the sky, weeping their light. The North Star glistens, beckoning && it so much looks like her children’s little faces as she gazes above.
They are her 𝒘𝒉𝒚, why eyelids open when the body roars awake in fretful morns.
Blue fabric lifts, hem of a dress grasped in a possessive touch. She haunts the gardens, bare feet wallowing in mud && a smile is rare as the heavens 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒑. A Queen is disgraceful in her childlike wonder—not yet drowned in looming misery.
Duty is forgotten.
It is 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 how the body bleeds. Pretty thighs stained in sickening crimson, the body’s regret. The belly weeps in agony, a reminder of a cot barren of a son. Sheets bunched in fingers && she cannot deny her despair.
Bugs are far more charming than her darling brothers. The spider weeping silk, web woven in its hunt for prey…
Is prettier in its pure intention. It does not hide its feast nor hunger. It does not lie.
