#inscmnium

@inscmnium asked : ❝ do not look away from me. i cannot bear it when i do not occupy your vision. ❞ (angsty "last" night together ? 🫀🗡️)

yrene  had  only  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  a  brief  moment,  to  truly  take  in  everything  around  her  —  daeron  above  her,  kneeling  between  her  bare  legs,  the  din  of  the  rain  outside  the  window,  and  the  foreboding  sense  of  doom  and  loss  that  fills  the  room.  how  is  she  supposed  to  handle  this,  the  idea  of  losing  daeron  so  soon  after  finally  getting  him  to  herself?

golden  eyes  open  and  look  up  into  the  prince's.  he  does  take  up  her  entire  field  of  vision,  his  face  so  close  to  hers  that  she  can  feel  his  breath  on  her  lips  —  lips  still  swollen  from  the  fervent  kissing  that  had  ended  only  moments  before.  oh,  how  beautiful  her  prince  is.  a  finger  traces  along  his  cheekbone,  his  jawline,  his  lips,  almost  reverent.  then  her  lips  replace  her  finger,  giving  him  a  soft  kiss  as  her  hand  moves  into  his  hair.

how  many  kisses  does  she  have  left  to  give  him  before  the  cruel  gods  take  him  from  her  at  dawn?

she  pulls  back  and  rests  her  head  on  the  pillow.  she  wants  to  memorize  every  line  of  his  face,  every  small  mark  and  freckle,  just  in  case  her  memories  are  all  she  has  left.

「𝕮」ontinued ━━━ ⟢ @inscmnium

𖤝. Boyhood is a crypt, bygone. What delights once clung to Aerion now lie rotting in its hollow, feeding upon the memory of gladness like pale maggots. Rot is the natural end of all soft things, and softness serves dragons not. The morningstar turns in his grip, with languid ease ; and thus does he receive Daeron’s charge. Steel clashes, repelled by ball & chain. What had been set before him in youth was simple in its design: an elder brother to abide and admire, a form to follow, a certainty of place as clean and unquestioned as blood. He remembers Summerhall not as it was, but as it insists upon being recalled━sun-struck stone, the gleam of water, idle hours squandered at a lake’s edge with line and hook and nothing of consequence at stake. Laughter, too. He remembers Daeron’s most of all. He seldom laughs anymore, and Aerion's memories have begun to fade. I had thought to follow you, once. The thought yields neither grief nor wrath, but humiliation that he had once looked up to this wretched creature. There is something almost pitiable in his elder brother, if one were inclined toward pity━though Aerion is not. Carrion dreams have devoured his brother, and the wine has leeched him of blood.

the sun had set long ago and the excitement that followed it had died down too. there had been a few stragglers entering her tent as the night went on, but the strange seeress had fled their curiosity with the announcement of the trial (and even more, as she had refused to entertain questions pertaining to it). fingers hold a half empty cup and most of her candles have been blown out when the fabric of her shelter whips open. in the dim lighting it is hard to make out more than his figure, but as she steps closer and his features become clear, it is obvious who he is. 

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃,  gaze  fixed  somewhere  beyond  the  window  as  though  the  courtyard  below  has  suddenly  become  the  most  fascinating  sight  in  the  realm.  the  silence  stretches  just  long  enough  to  be  suspicious.  then  her  eyes  flick  sideways  toward  her  brother,  regarding  him  with  that  particular  look  younger  sisters  perfect,  bright  with  a  sort  of  wounded  dignity  that  is  very  clearly  exaggerated. ❛❛  sulking  ?❜❜  she  repeats,  as  if  the  word  itself  were  an offense. ❛❛  I  do  not  sulk.  Princesses  reflect.  a  far  more  dignified  pastime.❜❜   aerena  watches  him  very  closely  now,  as  though  her  brother  has  suddenly  become  a  maester  of  emotional  matters—despite  suspecting  he  might  be  the  least  qualified  man  in  the  realm  to  answer.  she couldn't possibly ask her handmaidens, fearing they’d gossip. mother would’ve known what to say, but she was… gone. and her sisters are too young to understand. ❛❛  daeron,  if  a  person  were  to  find  themselves…  thinking  about  someone  rather  often,❜❜   she  continues with  a  tone  of  scholarly  neutrality  that  convinces  no  one,  ❛❛ —more  often  than  seems  entirely  reasonable—❜❜  her  head  tilts.  ❛❛  would  you  say  that  is…  a  problem  ?  or  merely  an  inconvenience  of  the  heart  ?❜❜