Curse of the Dreamer (a HOTD story)

Prologue

Prologue.

It begins the way it always does--with a plunge into darkness so swift and cruel she is not so much given the chance to scream.

The nothingness attempts to consume her, coating her limbs in a weight that threatens to leave her paralyzed. She rejects the stillness, her arms and legs thrashing wildly. Something in her chest burns.

She cranes her neck in a desperate attempt to find the sky. Her efforts are pointless. In a chasm so deep and dark, there is no air.

----

Rhaella gasps. Again and again, chest heaving as she pushes herself away from her mattress. Silk sheets pool onto her lap. Rhaella blinks hard enough to make her eyes sting. Not real--none of it--

Knowing that the nightmare had been just that should be enough to ease the dread tangling her stomach. She bends her knees, pulling her legs towards her chest. An odd sense of disappointment tinges the lingering panic.

At nearly 10 years of age, Rhaella is much too mature to be easily frightened. Her brothers and uncles have not been able to scare her into leaving them alone in months, she desires to be a knight, and she is destined to one day sit The Iron Throne. None of those things lend themselves to fear. And yet, her dreams have a way of making her chest feel hollow. What kind of Velaryon is tormented by thoughts of drowning?

Rhaella wipes at her eyes with the back of her palm. If she were to go to her mother's chambers, the tightness in her chest would be resolved. Her mother would smooth back her hair, kiss her temple, and listen to her. Eventually, her mother would promise Rhaella that if she went back to bed, she would sleep peacefully until morning. And even though Rhaella knows that her mother has no control over what happens in her subconscious, her mother would look at her in a way that made it impossible to not feel safe.

She sighs. Rhaella is not only nearly a woman, she is the future ruler of the seven kingdoms. That feeling of absolute safety should come from herself. Still, the darkness of her own chambers is making it impossible to forget the chasm.

Rhaella pushes herself to the edge of her bed, her feet brushing against the floor. She may be too old to seek out her mother before morning, but it can't hurt to take a short walk around the halls. That's not childish, she reasons, it's a way of regaining her sense of place.

She stands, that alone already making her feel a little better. Rhaella walks to her closet, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing a robe before approaching the room's main door.

Nightfall has a way of transforming the familiar. The absence of daylight has a way of making the corridors stretch beyond their usual length. The stillness of night makes the world feel empty.

Rhaella tugs on the sleeves of her robe, her fists squeezing the excess fabric. She continues to walk forward. She'll take a lap around the main hall outside of her chambers and then return to her room. Things will be better then. She will forget the dreams and the shadows and everything else plaguing her.

The main hall bends, revealing a path that Rhaella knows as well as she knows the lines etched into her own palm. She can imagine the familiar doors lining the walls, the stairwell that leads to her mother's chambers. Okay--Rhaella will continue down the path she knows best, but she will not go to the stairwell.

A loud thud echoes down the hall. Rhaella flinches. She shifts back on instinct.

The solitude Rhaella felt had always been a figure of her imagination. There is nothing inherently frightening about an unexpected sound in a home occupied by others. She inhales sharply as she forces her feet to take her back to the corner.
Rhaella's fingers curl around the edge of the wall, her body tucking itself as close to the stone as possible. She looks out into the hall, the limited candle light doing little to aid her vision.