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~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(No silent readers please<333)
DRAGONSTONE The moon hung low over Dragonstone, casting pale silver light through the narrow window of Vellena's chamber. The flickering shadows of the hearth danced weakly across the walls, but sleep refused to find her. Beneath thick covers, she tossed and turned, restless and unsettled. Her two kittens, Berion and Meria, nestled close together, curled peacefully near the foot of the bed, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in her heart.
Finally, with a soft sigh, Vellena sat upright, the weight of sleeplessness heavy on her. Her bare feet found the cool stone floor, and she slipped quietly from the warmth of the bed. The stillness of the castle enveloped her as she made her way to the vanity, moonlight tracing the contours of the room.
She hesitated a moment before opening the drawer—a secret refuge of memories. Her fingers brushed against the familiar cool metal of the necklace Jace had given her moons ago, after his return from the Stepstones war. It was a simple chain, yet the deep red ruby hanging from its center caught the pale light and shimmered faintly.
Vellena's thumb traced the smooth stone, her lilac eyes closing tightly as a sharp breath escaped her lips.
"So you've grown tired of your little whore?"
The words echoed cruelly in her mind, followed by his cold reply.
"Yes."
She swallowed hard, a solitary tear slipping down her cheek, followed by another, until the tears began to fall freely.
She sank to the floor, back pressed against the vanity's polished wood. The necklace clutched in her palm like a fragile anchor. Her sobs were quiet at first, then grew deeper and more desperate. She folded her legs close, resting her face against her knees, murmuring a name lost to the darkness.
"Luke..." The soft sound was barely more than a whisper.
Her little brother, taken too soon at Storm's End. Killed by their uncle Aemond and his terrible dragon Vhagar. A death that haunted her, a wound that refused to heal. Vellena's voice trembled as she spoke again, a thread of pain threading through her words.
"I should have died... not him."
Her fingers clenched the necklace tighter. Another name followed, tender and aching.
"Father..."
Laenor Velaryon, gone the same day as his twin sister's funeral. The thought of twins dying together made Vellena shudder. Would she have shared that fate if she had been one?
