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16/ FAMILY LINE
Maelora found herself encircled by people. They were all talking at the same time, their voices creating an inharmonic symphony. Like moths drawn to a flame, their outstretched hands sought to touch her as if she was something divine. As if her touch could bring them some kind of a miracle. Among them stood the woman, who had yelled for the young Princess and Prince Aegon's demise in the throne room, the one who wanted them to be hung, now crying due to her joy.
It was overwhelming for Maelora. They wanted to bring fire and watch her skin embrace the flames again. As if she was not a human being but a mere exhibit in a grand circus.
King Viserys collapsed to his throne seat after ordering a family feast to be held for dinner. The guards carried the weak king back to his room. Alicent did not want to go with him, the woman would prefer to stay close to her daughter, still shaken from watching her baby girl jump in front of the flames. However, Otto Hightower insisted that Maelora was fine and urged Alicent to accompany the Maester to attend to the King's needs.
Ser Erryk pushed through the crowd without a second glance at those who stumbled and fell in his wake. He cleared a path for the young Princess, ensuring her safe passage through the throng of fervent onlookers.
Maelora's first instinct was to run to a safe place. To Rhaenyra's old chambers. But now that the elder Princess was back, she feared they would put a few pieces of furniture there and return it to the heir.
The same scene was on repeat inside her mind. Maelora remained in a state of shock, her body numbed by the weight of her experiences. Her flesh felt like a vessel, containing bones and blood, a porcelain facade masking a tormented soul. A pretty smile adorned her lips, a delicate mask concealing the burning fire that raged within her heart.
The flames had felt like snowflakes on her skin. Soft, pure, and delicate. Leaving a chilling sensation that contrasted with the scorching heat burning within her.
Burning. Her body was a burning house she was stuck in. Consuming and never-ending. It flowed with her blood, pulsated with every beat of her heart, and clung to her bones. It was a part of her now. And Maelora didn't know what she would do if that burning feeling went away.
And now, everything made sense. Her insides were burning all the time because she was forged of fire itself. She had swallowed the sun whole and used it as her shell.
Maelora hurried with Ser Erryk on her side, people still screaming her name behind her as if her name was a prayer. As if she was some kind of a God.
