ᵁᵇⁱ 𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙧 ⁱᵇⁱ 𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙧 | Helaena Targaryen

Chapter 1

❝ 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝
𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛.
𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝
𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏. ❞

MADNESS HAS CONSUMED HELAENA, a rusted and decaying cage. It offers a twisted solace, a refuge from the gnawing guilt and grief. It has stripped her bare, leaving not a mother, but a husk draped in madness, decay, and blood.

Betrayal festers within her, the memory a searing brand on her soul. The wraith's offer echoed - oblivion, a release from the torment. But Helaena clung to the remnants of herself, the agonizing weight of her grief, her lineage, her sin. She refused to be erased, a hollow shell where a mother, a daughter, once resided.

Now, a ghost in this life, a shadow haunting the form of the woman she once was. The dreams, vivid and cruel, are a constant reminder of the life stolen, the children lost. A life - her life traded for this twisted existence, a bargain struck with a wraith-like entity that clings to her like a spider on a silken thread.

"Helaena," her mother's calling awoken her, a voice from a lifetime ago. She stared at her pricked finger, surprised to see the crimson blooming there. In her madness, she'd expected it to run black, mirroring the putrefaction within. But for a fleeting moment, a spark of the girl she once was flickered in her eyes, a flicker of recognition at the familiar, concerned tone.

"Yes, mother?" Helaena answered, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes remained fixed on her tapestry, the crimson blooms a stark contrast to the pale white threads. Alicent, her queen mother, grabbed her hand, her touch laced with worry. Dozens of tiny pricks marred Helaena's fingers, a grotesque constellation.

"Why did you do this to yourself, sweet girl?" Alicent asked, her voice cracking ever so slightly. It was a question Helaena couldn't answer. Was it penance for her sins? A desperate attempt to quiet the storm raging within?

Roses, her tapestry reminded her of roses, red, just like the blood blooming on her fingertips. A morbid desire flickered within her - to paint it with the crimson welling in her fingers, a reflection of the guilt that choked her. But reason, or perhaps a flicker of fear, held her back. Her mother might think her mad. That was true, of course, but this Helaena wasn't mad, not yet. At least, not in Alicent's eyes.

Alicent's grip tightened, her concern morphing into something sharper, a flicker of suspicion in her otherwise loving gaze. "Helaena," she pressed, her voice low and urgent, "look at me."

Helaena felt a tremor run through her, a primal urge to resist, to retreat further into the world she'd woven on her tapestry. But a sliver of the daughter she once was remained, and with a deep breath, she met her mother's eyes.

Alicent's breath caught. In the depths of Helaena's gaze, a flicker of something alien danced - a spark of madness nestled amongst the familiar grief. It was a fleeting glimpse, gone as swiftly as it came, replaced by a dull ache that mirrored Alicent's own growing fear.

"These... these marks," Alicent stammered, her fingers tracing the constellation of pricks on Helaena's hand. "How did they get there, my love?"

Helaena's voice was barely a whisper. "An accident, mother. Just a careless prick with a needle."

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. Alicent wasn't a fool. But Helaena wasn't ready to reveal the depths of her despair, the chilling comfort the self-inflicted pain offered in the face of the all-consuming madness.