Aelora Targaryen, known as "The Golden Child," was born of secrets and trained as a hidden weapon. Raised amidst prophecies and held back by her family's ambition, fire, and blood, she lived a life shrouded in mystery. Across the realm, Benjicot Bla...
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ACT I - Chapter three
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I don't know why I destroy everything I touch. I regret being born into a world where I am forced to be someone I'm not—someone who defies the odds. The thought of them, their disgust, it all disgusts me. I'm ruined, with no choice but to show my teeth and hope for the best. Perhaps they'll take it as a warning rather than a threat.
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The incessant murmur of voices in the council chamber was unbearable for Aelora. The overlapping conversations of numerous people felt like an invasion of her senses, making her want to scream in frustration. She longed for silence, for a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos. Every day since she learned of her betrothal to Lord Benjicot Blackwood, she found herself asking, "Why can't everyone just get along?" The constant noise only amplified her internal madness, reminding her of the difference in the life she wished for.
Her father, Daemon, had been adamant about the marriage, warning her that resistance would only make it harder for her to have even a semblance of a normal life. He spoke of duty and alliances, of the greater good, but Aelora couldn't see past her own despair. She felt like a pawn in a game she never asked to play, her fate decided by others without regard for her own wishes, and that normalcy was forever out of reach for her, a dream shattered from the moment of her birth. The expectations placed upon her, the weight of her lineage, all conspired to rob her of any chance at a simple, happy life. She yearned for freedom, for the ability to make her own choices, but it seemed an impossible dream. The more she thought about it, the more trapped she felt, the council's voices a constant reminder of her entrapment.
The council meetings had become a daily torment. The noble lords and ladies, with their grand titles and even grander egos, seemed oblivious to her discomfort. They droned on about politics, territories, and alliances, while Aelora's mind wandered to thoughts of escape. She envisioned a life where she could do what she wanted and as she pleased not owned by anyone, a life where she could be free from the constraints of her birthright.
Aelora's eyes often drifted to the windows, where the sky stretched out endlessly. She imagined herself flying on the back of a dragon, far away from the noise and expectations, where she could find peace and solitude. But such dreams felt distant and unattainable. Her destiny, it seemed, was firmly anchored in the political machinations of her family.
Despite her father's warnings, Aelora couldn't help but rebel in small ways. She would often skip the elaborate dinners, choosing instead to spend time in the quieter parts of the castle. She found solace in the library, surrounded by ancient texts and the soft rustling of pages. It was in these moments of solitude that she could almost forget her impending marriage and the life that awaited her.
