uncle.

yes .ᐟ the meadow is lush with wildflowers in the summertime, hard to resist not displaying them from time to time. they should go flower picking while the blooms are still vibrant.

it’s a beautiful day and you are in bed . . . hmph.

tiny wave from the princess. she has all sorts of wildflowers weaved into her thicket of long, dark curls today . . .

the forest has more cover.

i am . . . tired . . . ﹙a drowsy spell; sorting too many herbs, flying around all day on dragonback has exhausted the princess.﹚

i mourn the days when he was away in harrenhal.

surely you don’t mean that.

do not come to my town

me .ᐣ a bastard .ᐣ

mine as well, and peaches— hm .ᐣ mayhaps you should spend more time with me then, uncle.

innocent or not, the stranger will have us all. our greatest fears were fashioned before we were even a thought, and so were our sins. i fear little except that which i do not know . . . hm, there are figs for breakfast. ☺

braiding flowers into ser florian’s mane. 😊

he is like a cockroach unfortunately . . . hiding in corners and jumping out unexpectedly. 😔 i pray we lose him to the elements.

luke .ᐟ hold me. 🥺

flops down on the reader. she is tired . . .

it needs to be sewn shut...

if he calls me comely again, i will self-immolate.

we should run away.

uncle daemon . . .

/ touches glass i want to be here more

i’ve not a clue, he is an unnerving and confusing man. perhaps he means to frighten me.

he told me he missed me, i should perish on the spot.

lucerys! ( flinging self into arms . . . sniff. )

he who must not be named is here . . . nothing good about this morrow anymore.

GET AWAY FROM ME

sniff. i miss my brothers.

aenar. i suppose that might be true on many accounts, but i hardly share the thirst for my kin’s blood unlike so many— nor anyone else’s. we have unraveled like poorly weaved ropes.

good morrow, cousin . . . what do you mean by terrible .ᐣ

only a longing heart seeks comfort in strangers, chasing sentiments seldom afforded. i appreciate your concerns for me, uncle, but i do not share them.

yawned 4 times in a row . . . rubs eyes.

laying down in a shallow pool, allowing her hair to be submerged in it. duckweeds float all around in dense patches. her fingers tangle in them, water gently splashing.

he is my father and my mother is dead. who else is there to seek love from .ᐣ his soul may be damned but i would never forsake him.

sounds lovely, ser florian does need to stretch his legs—— the horse or the dragon, always the question. with spring lending way to summer, birds and their sweet songs paint the morning skies with splendor, the stableboys attending to their steeds.

‎⠀ ‎⠀ ⠀ ꪶ ⠀ the ⠀ gentle ⠀ presence, ‎⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝐄͢𝐓͢𝐄͢𝐑͢𝐍͢𝐀͢𝐋͢ ⠀ 𝐒͢𝐓͢𝐀͢𝐑͢. ⠀ ༨ ࣪ ‎⠀

leaning her head on the reader’s shoulder, oddly silent.

idly twirling the stem of a flower between fingertips. a cinderflower, translucent petals a muted peach, almost tangerine under torchlight, speckled with tiny white dots protruding on thin little stems.

unaware of what, precisely .ᐣ i know what he is, but you have implied that my father holds no love for me, only performance. if someone declared the same to vaella, she would take the same offense.

of course . . . hopefully her rest is long and dreamless. she deserves some peace.

i was not granted the luxury of choosing who my father is, but he does care for me and has never harmed me. please don’t imply otherwise, it is most improper to drive a princess to tears.

placing a quilt over her shoulders!

hmm .ᐣ he is kind to me, usually.

oh .ᐟ thank you, uncle. ☺ good morrow to you as well.

❛ so you have trouble sleeping too. ❜ a sympathetic smile; some ailments to the mind are shared and persisting. ❛ i planned to look from the gardens . . . but i’ll accompany you wherever you wish to look, aunt. when i was in starfall i could ↷ ᅠᅠ

sneaking away, outside past the walls.

it is morrow, the sun is gracing them with some beautiful light and merciful shade. a perfect day for riding or laying about the trees.