𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧.
she was the only daughter, their blossoming flower that often spoke in her own tongue. like her aunt before her, she would speak from her dreams and even find her way to the beach in a deep slumber. she was a...
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chapter one / the dragon chooses, it matters not who
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𝐒𝐇𝐄 sat beside Helaena as a spider crawled across her fingertips, scurrying — looking for a way to escape her aunt's pale fingers. Her eyes were glued onto a book that she had borrowed from the Keep's library. One that her mother had been fond of her in teenhood, which increased the young princess's interest. Both dreamers sat on a blank under the old tree, doing their own things. They found solace in each other, often reminding people that they were related. If they had ever questioned, and they did. Thanks to Helaena's rich Targaryen features, Aerea felt plain. Her eyes was not as violet as a lavender, they were brown as the dead leaves that fell to the ground. Her hair was not the beautiful silver hair that her mother inherited, it was a soft brown that looked black in the shadows of in the corners of the Keep.
Everyday, she was reminded that she was uniquely beautiful in her own ways. Her older brother, Jacaerys always told her that her dead leaf of her eyes helped him find comfort when he is anxious. Her little brother, Lucerys had once told her that she looked like an angel, ones that were kept hidden in the darkest corners of Westeros. Her mother fondly recalls her silky hair, how she loved the way it looked in full curls — not the usually Targaryen hairstyle. And her beloved father, Laenor often told her that beauty was found within and how she would always be beautiful in his eyes. The soft murmurs of her family gave the girl the strength not to put herself down.
