Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
heart to heart. were we the stars in heaven? were we the salt in the sea ?
dragons in the new warm mountain didn't you believe in me ?
───── they say grief is a negative impatience of an emotion, for it sits on your lungs and remains dormant until the time comes when something is placed away from you, or someone is taken from you in your life time. grief waits until it embraces you when no other soul can bring you the dignity of comfort. instead you meet this enveloping coldness of aching sensations, grief is such a metaphor for the strangers' aftermath. perhaps even its feelings.
the stranger waits for everyone in a certain light, soothes their soul and grants them a brighter home to look forward to, just a glimpse before their time comes and their limbs are cold and still.
most losses teach you to reach out for what you have left in your time of the running clock, like an hour glasses does the stranger watch over the sand that tips out of the miniature world of glass, transparent to all, before the clock runs out does he placed his cloak over you and the mother forgives you for your sins, in exchange for your souls return home into her arms. their arms.
grief is odd, for when you look at the world as a still picture do you slowly find yourself wondering, what shade were those innocent eyes before they were slain ? what was the texture of his hair before memory failed me ? what embraced your scent when he walked past ?
you find yourself in the realm of memories, rather the realm of westeros. the strangers elixir did you pour down your throat as it choked up with each sob, what can i remember of who i've lost ?
the home of dragonstone grieved all together at the first break of light, dawn settled into the morning yet what was there to celebrate other then lucerys' short life he was able to cherish before teeth of old valyria came to sink down onto his young flesh, swallowed whole by the beasts that made the house of targaryen.
all together did the blacks find their solace in their own ways, days had passed since ainsley had last seen her queen. days since she left on dragon back to the vast seas that came close to storms end, a mother could not think of much more without the legitimate proof of the claims her sweet boy had been murdered in cold blood.
grief did not warm the heart, but it squeezed at it between its claws that dug into the sweet flesh and muscles of the heart, and the veins that poured out its love in blood.
lucerys was a kind soul, one that believed he was undeserving because of the color of his hair, or the 'taint' in his blood. yet out of all of them was he the only one that didn't care for the differences between others, ainsley hadn't met a boy sweeter then the young luke, they grew up with one another when they arrived at dragonstone.
