Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

War Of Colours

Chapter Seventy~ War of Colours

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It was custom for a predator to stalk their prey before they went in for the attack. Watch their habits, and their ways, just long enough to learn the best way to execute the kill. Cats were the main culprit for sadistic tendencies in these parts, mice were their play things. they would squeak and squeal all whilst the cat would bit and poke. Then when the game got tiresome, the cat stopped its torturous play.

And then, and only then would the life be taken.

That was Rhaella's game, she would play with her toys and then when she got bored, she would throw them away.

Over the past two weeks she had been watching Lady Mysaria, watching who she spoke to and what she ate. She had quite the repetitive routine, excepts two nights out of the week were spent in the chambers of Daemon Targaryen. He would leave in the mornings and return with a plate of sugar covered berries and a cup of rose tea. Rhaella thought about mixing a poison into the tea, have her out quick and easy.

But she was much more creative than that.

Her days had gotten somewhat easier. Rhaynera had began calling her for late morning walks around the weirwood tree. Daemon had stopped watching her so closely and she had been allowed to fly Vermithor when she wished to.

But the day was obviously wishing to turn against her though, because on her visit to Gabriel and the bastards of her brother she was challenged with the image she never hoped would be painted for her.

They appeared to be sleeping, yet their chests did not move with the air that was meant to enter their lungs. They lay dangerously still and and a shade of sickly blue washed over each of them.

She couldn't find the sound, never mind the words, to say or do anything. Instead her knees gave way and she fell, hands smacking against the floor, it stung and send an electric jolt of pain thundering through her skin.

She gasped, clasping at her throat and begging the air to set itself free, but her visioned darkened before the chance came, and something terrible dragged her through the untold tales of a book only few may read.

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The room seemed the same, four beds. Four dead children. The awful cloak of the stranger still hung it's terrible cover on the chamber.

Except when she looked closer, these children were not were not born of Aegon's seed. They were born from her.

She ran to them trying to shake each of them awake, but it was to no avail.

It was haunting, truly haunting. She could feel their last minuets suffering tingle in her fingers when she placed a hand on each on them. Their tortured souls seemed too still linger in the room, whispers of the word why whirling around the room, followed by the taunting word of mother.

Her brow furrowed, and she gasped. The tears fell from her eyes and that awful choking feeling gripped at the inside of her throat, and she reached up scratching the skin red and raw.

"Who did this?!" She screamed once the tears slowed. "Who did this!?"

A booming thunder of words rained down from the heavens then, or perhaps it might've fired up from the hells.

Misery. Misery. Misery.

The world seemed to stop, to freeze in that moment then and a daunting feeling possessed her mind and soul.