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 IV: Chapter three
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My screams reverberate through the chambers, resonating amidst the cacophony. They are lethal, instilling fear and making people believe their lives are ending. My screams mirror the sound of my dreams, my nightmares, my death, and my life.
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Aelora had been at Harrenhal for four days, and each night was worse than the last. The ancient fortress, with its towering blackened walls and desolate halls, seemed to amplify the echoes of her fears and regrets. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the shadows that clung to every corner seemed almost alive, whispering and mocking her.
The nights brought no respite. Instead of sleep, Aelora was plagued by relentless nightmares, each one more vivid and terrifying than the last. In her dreams, she saw Verena's lifeless eyes staring at her, accusing and unrelenting. She saw flames engulfing the castle, Hellfyre's roar mixing with screams of agony. She saw herself, a monster, drenched in blood, with no hope of redemption.
And on the fourth night, Aelora sat by the dimly lit hearth in her chambers, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. The crackling fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled into her bones. She clutched a tattered book, its pages worn and yellowed with age, hoping that reading might offer some distraction, but the words blurred together, meaningless and distant.
A soft knock at the door startled her. She turned, her heart pounding in her chest. It was Alys, the wet nurse who had been assigned to her since her arrival. Alys was an enigmatic figure, with dark eyes that seemed to see straight through Aelora. Her presence was unsettling, her movements almost otherworldly.
"Your highness, you should rest," Alys said, her voice barely more than a whisper, filled with an eerie calm. "You look as though you haven't slept in days."
Aelora shook her head. "I can't, Alys. The nightmares... they won't stop."
Alys stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Aelora's. "Nightmares are the shadows of our deepest fears and regrets, whispers from the dark places of our soul. Sometimes, to silence them, we must speak their names."
Aelora's gaze dropped to the floor. "What good would it do? Talking won't change what I've done. It won't bring Verena back."
Alys tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful, almost cryptic. "The past is a river, my lady, and we are but leaves upon its surface. We cannot change its course, but we can choose how we navigate its currents."
Aelora closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. "Verena haunts me, Alys. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I feel her. It's as if she's reaching from beyond to drag me down with her."
