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༉˚*ೃ ᵒ². 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍! V H A E N A
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 the open window was cooling from the retreat of the honeyed sun, and it whistled through the open silk drapes in a gentle, solemn wail. If wind could be mournful, Vhaena thought that would be just how it sounded. She was inspecting herself in the mirror at the corner of her room, the metal edges of which were warped in carvings of suns and dragons and swords.
Dark circles were beginning to form under Vhaena's pretty purple eyes. Her cheekbones had started to hollow the slightest bit, and her lips were ashen and dry. As she blinked, she noticed how prominent the veins beneath her pale skin had become: like blue and purple serpents under marble. It looked a little like she was withering away, her brain commented as she placed the makeup cloth down on her vanity table. There was an ache in her fingertips she couldn't quite shake, a pain behind her lilac eyes, tiredness sunk deep into her Targaryen bones. She shook her head quickly, shielding her harsh cheekbones with waves of her pale hair—trying to clear the noise ringing in her ears.
The knock at the door startled the girl so badly she dropped the hairbrush she had been holding. Vhaena was never startled. The hairbrush struck the ground with a dull clash and rolled for a moment until it flattened itself on its front. Quickly, Vhaena picked the brush up and laid it back on the table, then crossed the bedroom to its entrance. Even her walk was lilted, weak, like she'd already spent all day running on sharp stones. The wood flooring felt like ice as it touched her bare soles.
Vhaena pulled the door open gently, the pain in her fingers not shaken. She felt as if the Grand Maester had given her milk of the poppy. There, on the other side, stood gentle Helaena with her three children. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys were at their mother's side, looking up at Vhaena with adoration in their purple eyes. Speaking softly, Helaena looked apologetic at disturbing Vhaena at this hour. "I'm sorry, Vhaena, they wanted to see you tonight." Baby Maelor was tucked safely in her arms, chubby hands grasped in the collar of her sea-green gown.
A smile overcame Vhaena's features as Jaehaera nodded eagerly to her, the little girl's fingers clasped gently together. Vhaena opened the door wider and let the children potter into her room. They always stared at each of her things in wonder: at the decorative swords and shields mounted upon the walls; the silver silk drapes on her four-poster bed; the great, direwolf hide spread across her floor; the small trinkets she kept beside her bed, of crystals and books and a music box from far away. Aegon had done his best to make her feel at home here as much as his other pure-born children.
