Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

Glass Doll

Chapter Seventy-Five~ Glass Doll

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It will be said for the next thousands of years how beautiful and how god like Targaryens were. It is repeated so often because of how remarkable it is. To carry such grace, such ethereality, it was cruel. They used it to their advantage, many believed it to be the dragons that lead the mind games, yet it was their riders that pulled on the strings.

They were like glass dolls. So pretty, so tempting. You couldn't help but want to play. But if you play too hard, then your fingers slip. And the doll will shatter and you will bleed. A single look in their direction was to enter a forever state of hypnosis, you could carry the hatred of a hundred men, yet you would forget it all in a heartbeat when your eyes fell upon them.

And though to the ordinary man, a Targaryen was a god. Being a god among gods was no better than being a man among men. They fought one another as armies do in the fields. They loved one another as lovers do. And they lusted after one another because they could.

The faith never agreed with it. It was an abomination, and to wed blood to blood was a sin that would be sent for the demons in the fiery pits.

But what care does a god have for hell?

Perhaps that was what made them so dangerous, the simple fact that no matter where they roamed, they would always be the ones calling the shots. You listen, you live. You don't, then you die.

And by the Heavens they would enjoy killing you. They were born sick you see, each and every one of them, a little bit mad and twisted.

Maybe that was another reason they stuck to each other, if they bred their insanity into the lines of other houses then soon enough the realm would be wrapped in chaotic flames of terror.

And Rhaella wondered now, how different would life be if she were born to another family. Martell, Stark, Baratheon, Lannister.

No, not the last one.

But the others, and many more, yes. That perhaps would have made her life easier.

But then she thought, what good would the world be if she was not who she was. If she hadn't a bonded beast, if she wasn't a princess, if she wasn't Rhaella Targaryen.

She wanted to hurt Aemond. After all this was all his fault.

Perhaps that wasn't true.

She didn't know anymore.

But it was what she told herself. Because anger needed a root and finding the seed in an overgrown garden of blame was a search she wanted no bother beginning.

She sat now, letting the rain shower through her hair and soak her dress, looking at the stone balcony in front of her. Her feet were bare and her hands were cold. But she didn't let it bother her. She was too busy letting the tears from the sky mix with the tears from her purple eyes.

She had started crying almost an hour ago, at first it had been out of anger. But now it was at the feeling of her shattered heart. It had clumped back together over the past moons, not back to its original shape, and pieces were missing, but it was almost together. But she could feel it again now, broken shards of an unsaid life.

Perhaps it was the cold going to her head. Perhaps it was the deprivation of sleep. Perhaps it was her lineage coming to bite her with sharp teeth.

Whatever it was, it had her hearing him.