#+ musing.

STATISTICS. 

full  name:  defne  rivers  title(s):  natural  first  born  child  of  the  ruling  lady  of  harrenhal  age:  twenty4  birthdate:  the  seventh  day  of  the  seventh  moon  place  of  birth:  harrenhal,  the  riverlands  gender:  demigirl  pronouns:  she/they  sexual  &  romantic  orientation:  unexplored  religion:  the  faith  of  seven  languages  spoken:  common  tongue  allegiance:  house  strong,  the  seven

father: unknown  lord  mother:  ruling  lady  leyla  strong  siblings:  none  marital  status:  unbethrothed,  unmarried  children:  none  related:  house  strong,  house  karstark  pet(s):  her  beloved  hounds:  solace,  jollye,  and  trouble

traits:  sheltered,  obedient,  affectionate,  sensitive,  concerned,  imaginative,  shy  interests:  rearing  hounds  ;  doodling  ;  dreaming  of  balls  and  handsome  knights  ;  admittedly,  defne  cannot  help  but  lend  her  ear  to  rumours,  hungry  for  any  news  —  no  secret  ever  safe  with  her  skills  &  talents:  is  very  good  with  animals  ;  a  talented  flautist  ;  a  gifted  dancer  though  has  rarely  had  opportunity  to  share  it  weapon:  wide,   tearful   eyes  playlist:  vienna  (in  memoriam),  the  army,  the  navy  character  inspiration:  neifile,  the  decameron 

height:  as  much  as  she  would  love  to  be  of  a  ferocious  height  —  they're  still  holding  out  hope  that  they  might  grow  a  few  more  inches  if  they  force  themselves  to  eat  just  one  more  turnip  at  dinner  each  night  —  alas,  defne  remains  a  miserable  five  feet  flat  hair  &  style:   born  with  a  full  head  of  dark  hair  that  simply  never  stopped  growing  complexion:  a  pale  pallour  with  rosy  flushed  cheeks  eye  colour:  a  wide,  curious  brown  notable  features:  a  spray  of  freckles  across  the  expanse  of  her  skin,  told  many  a  time  when  she  was  a  smaller  thing  that  her  freckles  were  a  starry  night  spilled  from  the  mother's  own  goblet  fashion:  trunks  upon  trunks  of  dresses,  shades  of  harrenhal  hues  ;  owns  more  shoes  for  dancing  than  walking  scent:  the  woods,  of  flowers,  of  sweaty  palms

HISTORY. 

you are the curse upon harrenhal.

no one has ever said such a thing to you, but you know. you are a part of the curse.

of everything done in your name ... you must be.

you do not want to be. see, no one asks to be born. but, you were brought into existence, summoned to serve the hallowed and haunted halls of harrenhal. it is all you have ever known. it is your cradle, your creed, and your coffin.

your childhood is spent with your face buried in your mother’s skirts, trailing after her with a small fist full of fabric. you long for a handsome knight to sweep you off your feet, but you have hardly ever taken a step that did not trail behind your mother. a natural born daughter of house strong, though you are far from it. you are a cowardly imposter. seven forbid the finger is pointed at you for fear you’ll combust into tears.

you are sheltered.

you did not wish for it to be so, but you are so afraid of the world. you wish to be seen, but do not want to be seen for fear of them seeing right through you. seeing you and not liking it. seeing you and even worse — that is the curse. the doubt that fills you at every turn. the well of guilt for simply being born. afraid to be loved lest it entitles your house's curse to their bones too.

but, in spite of it all, you love your home.

you love to run small palms against its brick, and racing with your dogs in the woods, and swimming in the god's eye when the weather is warm enough. but, it is a cannibalistic kind of love — one that will devour you whole.

perhaps if it does, then its walls will finally be sated.

ADDITIONAL.

she is ... haunted. by anxiety. demigirl ... you would have loved — LOVED! — zoloft. of course, one could say that defne is well within their rights to be so afraid of existing. after all, wouldn't you be the same if you were so unfortunately and deeply aware of the curse ...

truthfully ... despite the campaign to legitimize them ... defne actually doesn't mind being a bastard. they would never tell their mother this — she could not throw that in her face. she doesn't like the word, but ... she has a loving family, a haunted shelter over her head, all the dresses she wants ... it stings some that she might never make a good match, but ... if it never happens, that's okay.