✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ six ○

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I bid my family goodnight, holding myself calm and composed as I walk slowly toward my chambers. Each step echoes in the vastness of the castle hallways, my eyes tracing every stone, every detail etched into the walls as if memorizing the very soul of this place. I pause in front of a grand stained glass window, its colors muted in the night. A soldier's face, hardened and solemn, stares back at me through the glass, a silent sentinel.

In that moment, my composure crumbles.

Hot, uncomfortable tears spill from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks and splashing onto the cold stone floor-my floor. My home-well, my old home now.

I continue down the corridor, each step heavier than the last, my quiet sobs turning to ragged gasps. By the time I reach my chambers, the tears won't stop. I barely notice the door creak shut behind me as I fall onto my bed, my sobs ugly and raw, echoing in the bare, lifeless room. It's so empty, so disgustingly bare, like a room that was never meant for someone to live in.

I don't bother to undress. I don't even pull off my shoes. I curl into a ball, face pressed into the pillow, and cry myself to sleep, my breath coming in broken, aggressive heaves.

(Time Skip)

A rapid knocking jolts me awake, my heart pounding.

"My lady, may I come in? We have prepared a bath for you."

I rub my eyes, still groggy. "Yes, come in," I manage to say, my voice cracking slightly.

What feels like the entire castle staff pours into my room, bustling around with a quiet efficiency. One girl carries a large basin of steaming water, while others bring scented oils that fill the air with soft hints of vanilla and peony. A third girl enters, carrying a dress -a dress for my journey today, a dress I refuse to even glance at.

I feel like I'm moving through a dream as I step into the tub. The warm water envelops me, washing away the stiffness of the night, but not the heaviness in my heart. I scrub myself hard, as though trying to rid myself of the weight of the coming day.

"I'll bathe myself, please," I say softly as one of the servants approaches to help.

She bows her head and steps back, allowing me the space I need. I linger in the tub for what feels like an eternity, until my fingers begin to prune and the water grows tepid. Slowly, I stand and dry myself, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.

But then, inevitably, my eyes drift to the dress.

It's a vibrant yellow, designed to represent my house, to show unity. Even as I'm set to marry into House Targaryen, this dress is a statement that I am still of House Sunglass. The sleeves puff delicately at the shoulders, and the bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery, a work of art I can't bring myself to appreciate in this moment.

The serving girls begin to dress me, lacing the corset tightly around my waist.

"Oh, wow," I gasp, laughing slightly at how tight the garment feels. "I usually don't wear a corsets."

"Yes, my lady," one of the girls responds, her hands working swiftly. "I have to tighten it quite a bit. The Prince will appreciate it."

I sour. "Well, he won't see me in that way until our wedding night. It is unholy and not what the Seven intended."

"Yes, my lady," she replies, her tone polite and neutral, but I can feel the discomfort in the room.

Realizing I'd been harsh, I soften. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. "Thank you for helping me dress."

She nods, her eyes downcast, and continues her work. Soon after, they begin on my hair, pulling and tugging until each strand is perfectly in place.

Then, there's a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

"Tanda?" I immediately recognize my mother's monotone voice.

"Mother, please come in."

Myra steps inside, moving with an eerie grace, as if she isn't quite connected to the world around her. Her expression remains blank, but her movements are purposeful. She gestures to the girls, who quickly scurry out of the room, leaving us alone.

From behind her back, she produces something delicate-something golden. A necklace, shaped like the Seven-Pointed Star, glinting faintly in the soft morning light. Myra moves to stand behind me, her fingers cold as they brush my skin, fastening the necklace around my neck.

"Your faith will always be with you when I'm not," she murmurs. "The Seven will care for you if you are diligent... my girl."

Her words are carefully chosen, each one feeling like a heavy stone being added to the weight I already carry.

I stare at my reflection, the golden star resting just below my collarbones. It feels like a chain-one I'm not sure I can bear.

(Her dress)

(Her hair)