The Language of Girls

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"I am no mother, I am no bride,
                                 I am king"
                                    —Florence + The Machines

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Lyanna Stark's departure from the world came abruptly at the age of ten and seven, a tragic end that she hadn't foreseen. She lay on the cold cellar floor, knees drawn close, seeking comfort in prayers, whispering to any god that could hear her. The darkness around her seemed to swallow her pain until she looked up to the barred window, a peculiar raven sat on the concrete sill frames. Lyanna was not sure if it was her eyesight deceiving her but she could see the raven held three eyes on its head. Immediately as if the three-eyed bird knew she was staring towards it, it began giving loud cries of desperation. Then with a final cry, it vanished, and with it, Lyanna's soul seemed to dissipate into the void.

It was an internal limbo, memories of her past danced before her consciousness, pieces of sibling bonds and shared moments flickering like fading stars in the night sky. She traveled the corridors of her memory, reliving stolen embraces with her brother Jon, teaching Arya how to use a bow and arrow, and listening to exchanges she had with Sansa about her feelings towards Joffrey. Her senses suddenly awakened, death embracing her soul as she was signaled to open her eyes by a voice both familiar and ethereal.

As Lyanna obeyed the command, she found herself in an uncanny realm, shrouded in darkness yet infused with a strange light. Confusion engraved her features as she studied her surroundings, her gaze drawn to a flock of ravens perched nearby, their watchful eyes fixated upon her. Amongst them stood a figure, cloaked in mystery, with a three-eyed raven perched upon his shoulder.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Lyanna's voice quivered with uncertainty.

"I am your savior, the reason why you are here right now." The cloaked figure began walking towards her as the raven flapped their wings flying away from their previous position. 

Lyanna's mind raced with questions, "My savior?" her voice echoed, and a sense of courage infiltrated her as she began stepping toward the man 

"It is a very long story and unfortunately for you, there is not enough time." a sense of urgency was spoken towards Lyanna 

"What do you mean not enough time?" their gazes locked

The man's smile held a promise of mysteries yet to unfold. "You shall find the answers you seek, in due time. Until then, remember this moment, for it marks the beginning of your journey."

With those cryptic words, the room dissolved into darkness once more, leaving Lyanna to ponder the mysterious encounter as she emerged into the blinding light, the echoes of a prophecy resonating within her soul.









Somewhere in the Vale of Arryn 86 AC

Footsteps echoed across the chamber floor. Handmaidens flowed in and out of the chamber, their arms full of billowing sheets of pristine fabric, a symbol of purity amidst the upcoming chaos of childbirth. Daella Targaryen, her once regal face contorted in agony, bore the weight of labor with determination. Each contraction was a battle cry, each push a testament to her unwavering willpower.

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⏰ Last updated: Mar 24 ⏰

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