Targaryens are known to have queer costumes, an unusual tradition in which the brother and sister wed each other in order to secure the line of succession as pure as possible. Well, it is not always the Targaryens that have such habits, who says tha...
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~129 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
DRAGONSTONE. DAYS LATER. The morning light filtered through the tall arched window, its golden rays stretching across the stone floor and creeping toward the bed. The warmth kissed Vellena's bare shoulder, but she merely turned onto her side, her dark lashes resting against her cheeks as she ignored the day's arrival.
She had not slept well.
Her mind had been restless, plagued with thoughts of war, of the choices before her, of a past that refused to die.
She exhaled softly, eyes still shut.
Then, something soft and puffy brushed against her cheek, followed by a small, wet nose nudging her.
A tiny tongue licked her nose.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
Peeling open just one eye, she was met with a pair of curious golden-green eyes blinking at her. Mera sat on the pillow beside her, her small form of orange and black stripes standing out against the dark sheets.
On the other side, Berion, his white-snow fur kissed with faint yellow markings, gazed at her as if waiting to see if she would finally wake up.
"Alright, alright. I'm awake," she murmured opening her violet eyes and running her fingers through her silver hair.
Vellena let out a small chuckle, only for Mera to stumble back in alarm, her tiny paws flailing before she tumbled into the pillow behind her.
"Silly girl," Vellena murmured with amusement as she sat up, leaning against the headboard.
Mera and Berion wasted no time, climbing onto her legs and playfully batting at each other, their tiny tails flicking with excitement. Vellena simply watched them, letting the warmth of the morning and the comfort of her kittens ease her into wakefulness.
Then, a knock.
"Princess?" came a soft voice from the other side of the door. Lyra.
"You may enter," Vellena called.
The door creaked open, revealing her handmaiden, Lyra, stepping in with a gentle smile.
Lyra was no older than one-and-twenty, with long dirty blonde hair, sharp green eyes, and pale skin that looked as if it had never once seen the sun.
