Chapter 1
Rhaenari Lyrienna Lorais
The black keep.
Rhaenari stared out at the endless, star-dusted sky, a familiar ache settling in her chest. Another life ended, another cycle completed.
The taste of ash and the phantom chill of death still clung to her, a persistent reminder of her mortality, despite her unnatural ability to return.
A hundred years, maybe more – she’d lost count of the iterations, the endless repetitions of her existence. Each year, a fresh start, a chance for change, yet each attempt to alter the course of her life had ended in the same bitter failure.
The weight of her actions pressed down on her. She had nearly killed Visenya, a child then, now a woman, a striking beauty at nineteen.
The guilt was a constant companion, a shadow that stretched long and dark across her soul.
The thought of apologizing felt ludicrous, a pathetic gesture in the face of such profound transgression.
Yet, here she was, contemplating a path that many would deem monstrous.
“Why did it never occur to me before?” she whispered to the wind, her voice barely audible above the rustle of leaves.
Hundreds of years, and only now, in the twilight of yet another life, did the possibility of a relationship with Visenya – an inappropriate, perhaps even depraved, relationship – present itself as a solution, a desperate attempt at redemption.
The disapproval of others didn't matter. They hadn't lived her life, hadn't endured the endless cycle of death and rebirth.
She was the one who had suffered, the one who had paid the price for her mistakes, time and time again.
A servant approached, her voice soft and hesitant.
“Your grace, I’ll leave this here.” The words barely registered.
Rhaenari was lost in thought, picturing Visenya – a vision of exquisite beauty masking a heart of fire, a patient dragon waiting for the right moment to strike.
The familiar emptiness in her stomach returned, the gnawing hunger that always accompanied her resurrection.
But this time, the fear was tempered with a flicker of hope. A dangerous hope. She just hoped she wouldn't upset Visenya's lover; dealing with a scorned woman would be a whole new level of trouble.
The escape from the Golden Keep was a blur of adrenaline and instinct. In the dead of night, she’d stolen a horse, the knights hot on her trail.
Her centuries of experience allowed her to evade them easily, a stark contrast to her utter helplessness against Visenya.
The girl possessed an uncanny network of allies, a web of influence that Rhaenari envied. She wished she had such loyalty, such unwavering devotion.
Her destination was clear: the annual festival celebrating the god Vormir. It was a poignant reminder of her father's death, a tragedy that had played out on the same day, year after year.
She needed to lose herself in the festivities, to drown out the relentless tide of guilt and fear.
She dismounted her horse in the shadows, hiding it safely before rejoining the throngs of celebrants.
The city pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the somber silence that had followed her father's death in previous lives. She remembered the shocked faces, the way the smiles had vanished, the sudden realization that their miraculous king was gone.
The first time it happened, she had locked herself away, praying for a miracle, a divine intervention that would restore her father to life.
It never came. But tonight, the festival offered a different kind of solace. She allowed herself to be swept away by the music, the laughter, the vibrant energy of the crowd.
Golden Harbor shimmered under the night sky, a breathtaking panorama of human connection.
Rhaenari observed lovers embracing, families laughing, each interaction a precious jewel reflecting the city's warmth. For a moment, she found peace, a fleeting respite from the turmoil within.
Yet, the weight of her actions remained. The guilt was a heavy cloak, smothering her. She drank deeply, allowing the ale to numb the sharp edges of her remorse.
She reveled in the anonymity of the crowd, the simple pleasure of being just another person, even as the search for her intensified.
The following morning brought the inevitable news: the king was dead. Grief washed over the kingdom, a wave of sorrow that echoed in the cries of the people.
Rhaenari felt the weight of their loss keenly, a profound sense of empathy for a man she had known.
Xandros had been a good king, a devoted father, a man of honor. She missed him, missed the stability he had brought to the kingdom, a stability she had never been able to provide herself.
The servant's announcement jolted her back to the present.
“Lady Visenya is here, your grace,” she said, her voice hushed.
The dread returned, a cold hand gripping Rhaenari's heart. Visenya, the obsessive child who had driven her to Essos, the one who had killed her countless times.
“Very good, Melisa. Make sure no one interrupts us,” Rhaenari instructed, her voice betraying none of the fear that gnawed at her insides.
She stood before the mirror, admiring her reflection in the same dress she had worn on that fateful night in the brothel, where she had discovered her infertility. It was a reminder of her own vulnerability, a stark contrast to the power she craved.
She hoped, desperately, that her plan would work. That Visenya would see beyond the monster she had been, and find the woman she desperately wanted to become.
To be continued.
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The Daveniri (Gxg)
Roman d'amourGxg(gl) Another year. Another cycle. The weight of it pressed down, heavy and suffocating. She knew the day, the hour, the very moment her life would end. She knew the face of her killer, the burning hatred in her eyes. But knowing didn't change...
