⠀ death ⠀ is ⠀ the ⠀ only ⠀ water ⠀ to ⠀ wash ⠀ away ⠀this ⠀ dirt. ⠀
21 + ╱ mdni
Joined February 2023
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robb stark is more pest than threat. snarling at the feet of those who earned their right, hoping flesh may fall to his palms and bless his sick flesh so. he will come for joff’s head? he will, surely —— it’s what diseases do.
robb stark is more pest than threat. snarling at the feet of those who earned their right, hoping flesh may fall to his palms and bless him so.
he will come for joff’s head? he will, surely —— it’s what diseases do. and we rip them out, all the same.
winter-kissed draperies ╱ shoulders tense with frostbite and first snows ， verdant to tarnished gold . hunched forms ， unbefitting of a king : yet
， the throne kisses his frame .
unlike hers ， unlike theirs ﹠ every blonde-haired, green-eyed ╱ stag-blooded and wolf-hearted ╱ boy to climb the steps.
〝 have the commonfolk given you a name now ， brother ﹖ do they deem you kind ﹖ perhaps brave ﹖
you cast bloodshed aside ， but you must hear the whispers ， @devilsresting .〞
you always insist on such childish names, brother. for what reason has he traveled south?
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silence. she waits, though for what she does not know. a sign from the gods, falling into her pretty little hands? “ and what of the death you gave her? ” looking for curiosity and reassurance all the same. “ pray tell, need we worry about this again? ”
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“ did the starks take your hand or your mind? you have fought many battles, brother, but never have you taken a woman for prisoner. ” she refills his glass. “they are too delicate, too shrill. you think it unjust, foul, that it shapes your shadow into the mad king. ”
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“ before, ” she answers. it rolls off her tongue too easily, and as cersei rises from her seat she busies herself with mirages from the windows. sharp angles : jaw, collarbones, shoulders … as though made for sculpture, not for life.
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“ it’s why she didn’t return with you. you were interrupted. is that correct? ”
should she push, bend and break … would he embrace her? hold her, hug her like halcyon days spent running from their father. would he whisper a secret in her ear? could she laugh?
“ you may have gotten yourself captured, brother, but you are not a fool. ” ruminating on jaime’s imprisonment proved sickening : the brother she knew—the knight she knows—would never have let himself fall apart so easily. which of us deserves father’s praise, she’d thought.
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you, who plays the stark’s dog? tyrion, stealing wildfire with a wicked lilt to his horrid voice?
you left me, cersei thinks. you left me to the stags and the hounds. and you do not regret it.