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threads through threads.
take me down to the river and bathe me clean.
put me on the back of your white horse to ride to the chapel, let you wash all over me.
trigger warning for talks of suicide.
───── slumber was a neglect from ainsley, for it embraced her and then vanquished her from the peace she had stored up that night, lucerys' young words that festered and infected her mind over the coming day, grief was all that consumed her. yet she stood strong as she should of over time. neglected her of the mothers embrace of allowing her to remain in that sweet peace for even a moment, yet she found herself at the strangers mercy.
many years had she spent staring down from the windows and down the cliffs and falls of dragonstones forests and lands, each one was such a strange encounter. years had she spent in grief of her mother beforehand, herself and the emotion were not very well acquainted for she would at that young age throw herself from the walls of this castle, if not for the comfort of the queen.
who too lost a mother when she was around her age, her mother was not a shipwright but the woman was a healer of some sorts, a nurse that came with a tender hand rather then the rough hands of maesters.
she was a kind soul, one that adored her young babes like a mother should of, ainsley had two brothers that came before her. one that grew to be the heir of house celtigar, while the other had come to be a servant of the fourteen seas, traveling where he could.
the bed sheets beneath her shifted in her restless state, a position was never completed at this rate. slept on her back she had tried, but it did not work. her left side, it did not work, her right side, still did not work. her front, no effort.
a huff of frustration left her lips, her hair no longer contained into the many pins and hair ties anymore rather it was allowed to breath while she attempted to sleep. perhaps she needed a haircut, her crusades of mahogany curls had grown to reach the small of her back.
the brief breeze against the flesh of her legs were calming, remaining in her night gown and covered by the sheets.
her gaze watched beyond the dancing candle light. how it illuminated the light creak of her chamber doors as it opened and closed in the silence. the flame that moved with the change of air and wind.
the thud played out quietly upon her table, heavy books of leather and the settling of a weight upon the chair as it creaked. her head remained spread out across her pillow, her hair at that rate would be the blanket.
