Cirilla was a girl bedevilled. All her life, she'd been plagued with terrible nightmares of fire and blood. But as she twisted and turned and burned, Daemon Targaryen smelt the smoke and smiled.
daemon targaryen x fem!oc
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ HOUS...
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"𝕿HE VALYRIAN CAPITAL was built into a volcano, much like Dragonstone." Viserys traced his weathered fingers over the finely-chiselled model of Old Valyria. He gazed at it with awe and such affection that all but his late wife were unbeknownst to it. "And the dragonlords, the highest of the nobility, lived here at the volcanic face, closest to the source of their magic and power."
"It is truly wondrous what you've built," said Alicent appreciatively. She was aglow in the light of the sun's dying rays. Beautiful in a cerulean gown, with her hair drawn back in an elegant updo.
All the while, Ciri watched them as she clung to the outside of the Red Keep, one precarious step from falling to her death.
How she ended up in this predicament, well... it began not long after leaving Laena in the gardens. She'd been marching down the corridor, more determined than ever to solve the cause of their misery, when she realised she was at the king's chambers. Ciri did not know how she'd taken stair after stair, winding up to the top of Maegor's Holdfast, without stopping to question where she was going. But subconsciously, her mind demanded she root this issue back to the source. Perhaps, in her haste, Ciri might've barged in and insisted Viserys leave her and Laena well alone. What a spectacle she could've made. What a disappointment she could've been to her family.
However, she came to her senses and had been about to turn around and head back when the answer she'd been searching for revealed itself. When Viserys said he'd been summoned to his quarters, Ciri expected for him to be in the company of the Hand... not his daughter. For that was unmistakably Alicent's voice sounding through the walls.
Tentatively, Ciri stepped forward, wishing the door would open, just a sliver, so she could see inside. Alas, it did not. So, she took matters into her own hands.
Without giving herself time to hesitate, Ciri clambered out the window at the end of the corridor. Her feet teetered on the outer ledge. The world swooped and warped beneath her. A stone crumbled away, not an inch from where she stood. Calming her breath—knowing that to shake was to fall—Ciri shuffled around the circular turret, plastering herself to the wall. The wind battered her cheeks a rosy tincture, whisking up her skirts. She wobbled slightly, then steadied herself on a pillar. A mad woman, some might've called her.
Maybe she was.
But everything in life had its price. If this was to be her payment in return for the answer to her prayers, so be it.
