¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

vii: unwanted burdens

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [ SONG OF SORROWS ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
unwanted burdens ━ ✩・*。

— 112 A.C
KING'S LANDING

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BLACK encapsulated everything that Valerys hated. It was the color of a long, dark night, plagued with wicked mischances, monsters creeping along the precipice of shadows, seeking the opportune moment to strike. It was corruption, the desolation of good-nature, replaced by something vile and stinking, leaving the rotting corpse of love and loyalty behind. Today, black was death; the wide, endless pit that came to swallow up every living thing, leaving the lost soul to forevermore tumble through the lightless abyss.

    Black was her gown, the color of ceaseless mourning. The dawn had broken the same as it always had, as though nothing had changed, as if Valerys' entire family — entire life — hadn't come crumbling down in the span of a few, fleeting hours. It was wrong; how could everything remain the same when everything had changed? How could the day seem so mundane when normalcy was a forgotten virtue?

    Squinting against the sunlight that seeped in through the opening of the solarium, Valerys attempted not to wince at the forceful hand of Keres at her back, lacing her bodice taut against her figure. It felt sacrilege, to spend a considerable amount of time worrying about her appearance when they had a funeral to attend; no less her mother's. Valerys would happily step out in rags, if it meant she was able to give her mother a proper send off.

    No words were shared between Valerys and her lady-in-waiting, who could sense the pain ricocheting around her brain. Deft fingers brought the gown down over her head and against Valerys' body, tying the last of the laces before dropping her hands away and looking upon Valerys through the mirror before them.

    It was a simple dress, the signature Arryn blue weaved into the lacework that covered her arms and shoulders. Midnight black fabric flowed over Valerys' body like a living shadow, the fabric light and moveable. As pretty as she looked, Valerys could not find it in herself to smile.

     "Are you ready, Princess?" came the gentle, coaxing voice of Keres. Her face was an amalgamation of pity and concern, pity Valerys had no use for.

    Heaving a deep sigh, Valerys toyed her fingers against her loose hair, always flowing like a starlight river, never done up; her father claimed it was a testament to her untamable personality. With the dreary outlook of her future, that sentiment would not long hold true. Frowning at the bittersweet memory, Valerys met Keres' eyes through the mirror. Pits of forlorn lapis, abandoned by any semblance of delectation. A shell of the woman she was, soul removed by the greedy hands of fate that had stolen away her mother from her unforgivingly.

     "No," said Valerys honestly, blinking rapidly. Pressure built in her eyes. "I don't believe any daughter is ready to say goodbye to their mother."

    A hand came to rest upon Valerys' shoulder, squeezing with comforting gentleness. "It is a cruelty you are made to bury her, but you are strong."

    If Valerys had any particular thoughts concerning Keres' statement, she did not voice them. Instead, she smoothed down her dress twice, gave a stern look to herself in the mirror, and ducked out of the room without so much as a word.