#maegelle

My dear knight,

Today, like every day, the sun rose with its relentless light, unaware that within me a storm was raging. I tried, as always, to extinguish the small flame burning in my chest, but I have failed. The fire remains lit, burning in every corner of my being, and you are the only one who knows how to stoke it. I find myself trapped between duty and desire, and though I try to remain calm, my thoughts cannot stop wandering towards you.

I remember the first moment our eyes met, in the hallway of the sept, when everyone else faded from my sight and only you remained, defiant, even at a distance. My heart beats hard every time I think of it. Today, when I crossed paths with you again, I could see how your fingers adjusted to the black gloves you always wear with a near ceremonial perfection, as if they were an extension of you, hiding the damage you have suffered, the scar that runs across your face, a reminder of the battles you have fought and the ones you continue to carry inside.

Your face, marked by time and the scars of your soul, never ceases to amaze me. Though the world has stripped so much from you, your eyes, so intense and deep, always find me. Even with the darkness that covers one of your eyes, even with the pain you know how to hide, I see myself reflected in you, as if your heart, wounded like mine, beats at the same rhythm.

I cannot help but remember every encounter with you, the way your presence fills the space with an unsettling calm. While you speak, my voice breaks, my hands tremble involuntarily. I try to remain composed, as a septa should, but the truth is that I am nothing more than a woman lost in her devotion.

Today, when your eyes met mine, I felt the electricity that flows between us. My soul burned, and though I knew I should have pulled away, my body did not respond to my more rational desires. Inside, I know these feelings should not exist, that my position as a septa should cut off any thought of this kind. But how can you confront a fire so powerful that it consumes every thought, every heartbeat?

The worst, or the best, is that I know you know. Every time our gazes meet, it’s as if we share a secret language, one that has no words but says it all. It’s a silent confession that neither you nor I dare to reveal aloud.

I know that my devotion to my faith and duty is something I could never forget, but every moment I spend in your presence reminds me of how fragile the line between obligation and desire is. And I find myself pulled by a current I cannot stop.

Today, as our paths crossed in the hallway of the sept, I saw once more how your gloves adjusted, covering your hands that seemed strong, yet I knew they held secrets. Your scar on your face, that mark of the past, seemed to glow under the sunlight filtering through the temple windows, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but draw closer, almost without realizing. My eyes shone, but I quickly looked away, feeling the blush on my cheeks, afraid that you might sense what was happening inside me.

This silence we share is so powerful, so full of unspoken promises, that I don’t know how much longer I can bear it. When our gazes meet, my breath catches, and though I try to maintain composure, my thoughts overflow.

Perhaps someday, when this silent suffering we carry, this forbidden and hidden love, has left its mark on us, we will be able to be honest. But until then, I hope we can continue this game of furtive glances, of gestures that speak more than words ever could.

Until fate brings us together again, I hope that, as always, our encounter will be as silent and secret as the others, like the shadows with no witnesses.

With a devotion I can no longer hide,

Maegelle

୨୧

My dear,

Perhaps the time has come for me to be honest with myself and admit that my thoughts are no longer solely about faith, about the Seven, about my life as a Septa. I have tried, with all my might, to redirect my soul towards purity, towards the path expected of me, but deep within, I know I have fallen. The echo of my heart can no longer be silenced. Every time I am in front of you, those internal voices I’ve tried to quiet scream at me, and though I strive to ignore them, they grow louder.

I have listened so many times to your stories, your battles, the victories you have achieved at the cost of so much pain, and though my duty is to be firm, to be silent, to feel only devotion, within me awakens an unfathomable sadness knowing I will never be part of your life in the way my soul desires. A desire that sometimes frightens me with its intensity.

I watch you unwillingly, sometimes with my eyes lowered, as you speak of those dark days, of the horrors you’ve lived through. I, so small in my devotion, so far removed from what you represent: a man of war, marked by life, both in body and soul. You, with those black gloves that cover your strong hands, which once wielded a sword with skill. Your face, weathered by the years, bears a scar that runs across your cheek with a hardness that cannot be disguised. And the memory of battle has also left its mark on your eye, the one that can no longer see but still conveys a deep sadness. The other eye, so full of life, watches me with intensity, as though it could read every one of my thoughts.

My hands, which used to be firm and decisive, now tremble every time you come near, even if you don’t notice. I know you do, but I dare not say it, because the whispers of reason tell me it’s not right, that I must not. I cannot allow my devotion to the Seven to break for these feelings, but how can I ignore them when every word of yours, every glance, stirs a storm inside me?

I remember, as if it were yesterday, the touch of your hand on mine, light but so warm that it almost took my breath away. It was such a small gesture, so innocent, but in my heart, it resonated with such force that it almost made me fall to my knees. Did you notice? I know I will never say it aloud, I know I will never find the words to express it. The distance between my life and yours is insurmountable, and my vow is stronger than any human desire, but how do I stop this fire inside me that grows every time I encounter you?

Your presence, so constant, so real, makes me feel alive in a way I have never known. Sometimes, when we are together, everything becomes clear, even if only for a fleeting moment. Your words touch me more than I would dare admit. You make me smile in a way I don’t know if I should, but can’t help. It is a gift that, though it pains me to accept, you have given me unknowingly. And yet, each smile, each moment I spend by your side, torments me because I know I am a lost woman, trapped between two worlds.

Here I am, beneath the roof of the sept, praying for peace, but peace never comes, because my heart beats for you. And this love, forbidden and hidden, consumes me without remedy. In every crossing of gazes, in every shared silence, I feel that there is something more, something that neither you nor I dare to name, but that is there, like a whisper in the dark, like a broken promise before it is spoken.

Maybe I will never say it aloud, maybe I will never be able to, but when we meet, something changes between us, and I wonder, in silence, if you notice it too. I know that the distance between us, in this world, is insurmountable, but I can’t help but think that there is something in your eyes, something in the way you speak, that makes me believe I am not the only one who holds this secret.

With my thoughts caught between duty and desire,

Maegelle

୨୧

Dear knight,

I have spent so much time thinking about how I could express what I feel for you without betraying the vow I took before the Seven. And yet, my thoughts always return to you, like a tide I cannot stop. Everything, from the softness of your words to the way your presence fills the air when you approach, envelops me. I didn’t seek it, but now I know I can no longer ignore it. The love I feel for you is not a common love, it is not a wild passion, but it is something deep, something that fills my soul and, at times, wounds me.

I clearly remember the day you asked me to heal that wound on your arm. You, in your knightly manner, often so unshakable, stripped yourself of your pride and allowed yourself to be vulnerable. Something you never showed to others. As you approached me, I could see how your steps slowed, how you gave yourself without words. You were so hurt, so tired, but still your gaze was firm, your face a mask of strength. When you asked me to heal your wound, it wasn’t just a request for physical aid, it was a silent surrender that left me breathless.

Your clothes were torn, the dried blood stains covered part of your tunic, and your black gloves, which you always wear, seemed worn from time and battle. Somehow, those gloves, which cover your strong hands, reminded me that you are a man marked by life, by war. I was surprised at how delicate your heart seemed in that moment.

And I, in turn, allowed myself to be close to you, knowing that this moment, this simple act, was a silent crime. Every brush of my hands over your skin, every movement I made to clean and bandage your wound, was a sin in my thoughts, but in my heart, deep within my being, it was the only truth I knew. I felt the tension in the air between us, so thick it could be cut with a knife. The contact of your fingers on my skin burned me, as if your hands, covered by those black gloves, left an indelible mark. The murmur of your breath near my ear only confirmed what I had known for so long: my love for you could not be stopped. In that moment, I felt as though the whole world had faded away, leaving only that fleeting, dangerous connection.

I remember how, in the end, I was on the verge of giving in, of crossing that line I should never have crossed. I was about to kiss your lips, to succumb to that temptation that, though immense, should never have existed. I looked at you in silence, my eyes searching yours, looking for some sign on your face, but I only found the calm and emptiness you have always tried to show. Yet, I couldn’t. I held back, as I always do, as I always must. But at the same time, I wonder, in the darkest corners of my soul, if you will ever do it.

Those shared moments, though brief, though silent, have left me more confused than ever. I know what I feel for you cannot be, that my duty as a septa forces me to keep my distance, but how can I ignore what is here, inside me, pulsing with strength?

Today, as the hours pass slowly, I find myself with the same question: if fate allows us another encounter, another moment, will it then be the moment when our hearts finally speak to each other without words?

With the hope that fate grants us one more moment,

Maegelle

୨୧

My love,

Today, my words are not enough to describe what I feel. As the sun slowly sank over the septa’s gardens, a golden and warm light illuminated the path you walked, as solemn as always, but this time, something in you was different. Your figure stood against the sky with a silent majesty, like a shadow dragging the echoes of ancient battles. The wind blew softly through the trees, lifting the scent of flowers and damp earth, and it was in that instant, at that very moment, when your lips met mine.

The kiss was gentle, almost as if the wind itself had decided to pause and witness our story. It was a brush of delicate caresses, like the warm spring breeze touching the skin. In that kiss, I felt everything we had repressed, all the desires we had buried beneath the weight of duty and faith. It was like a sigh of the soul, as if our lives overflowed in that single act, without the need for words, without the need for anything else. I don’t know what happened afterward; I only know that that kiss was the release of everything we had kept hidden for so long, and I felt it deeply in every fiber of my being.

Your hands, covered with the black gloves you always wear, reached up to my face with an unexpected gentleness. I can clearly remember it: the firm touch of your fingers on my cheeks, as if you wanted to protect me, as if the love we shared were something much greater than the world around us. Your touch was warm, deep, and I felt my soul tremble under its weight, even though my mind tried to resist. In that moment, I forgot everything I was, what I should be, the Septa that had always been my identity, my duty. Time faded away, as if it had stopped completely, allowing us, for a brief second, to simply be you and me, without the restrictions of our reality.

I saw myself, in my simple white linen tunic, the golden edges of the garment marking the purity expected of me, but I couldn’t feel farther from that image. My hair, gathered in a simple bun, slowly unraveled in the wind, and although my heart raced wildly, I found myself lost in your eyes, which, though marked by the scar that crosses your face and the shadow of an eye that would never see again, shone with an intensity I could not ignore. Those black gloves that always cover your hands were no barrier to the heat of your touch, they did not stop every spark of desire from igniting within me.

I don’t know how many moments passed, I don’t know how long that kiss lasted, but I know it was enough to mark my life forever. My mind was in chaos, my body trembled in your arms, but what I felt was pure. It was only a moment, but a moment in which, at last, I could be myself, without the shackles of duty, without the restrictions of a life that no longer fit me.

And while our souls touched, something in me knew that, though we could never be together as we wished, though fate would separate us forever, there would never be another love like this. This love that consumes me in silence, that hurts me in its impossibility, but that lifts me in its beauty. I will always carry you in my heart, my knight, with every beat, with every sigh. You are the truth I have denied and the love I will never stop feeling, even if it’s in secret, even if I keep it only for myself.

With all my love,

Maegelle

୨୧

My dear,

Many moons have passed since the last time my eyes rested upon your face, and every dawn since then has been an endless wait. Each day, upon waking, my first thought has been the same: What would you do today? And each night, when the stillness of the sept surrounds me, I have wondered if I would ever again see that slight smile of yours, the one that illuminated the dark corners of my life like a candle fighting to stay lit in the middle of a storm. I always wondered how you could remain so serene, with that gaze so deep, so full of unspoken promises. A look that, though silent, told me everything would be alright, that nothing could separate us, even if the whole world was consumed by the flames of war and pain.

But today, my love, I no longer have hope of seeing you emerge from the shadows. The echo of your footsteps, those boots that once resonated in the halls of the sept, no longer sounds in my mind. I no longer expect your voice, the one I knew so well and that used to calm my fears, to break the heavy silence that now surrounds me. Today, my words are merely the echo of an absence that grows deeper with every passing minute. Every stroke of my pen, every written word, seems empty, like a sigh carried away by the wind.

My hands tremble over this parchment, my fingers tracing the inked lines with difficulty. The news—that news that has been delivered to me—repeats itself over and over in my mind, striking my heart with unbearable harshness. They tell me you have gone, that the wounds you bore, the ones you hid beneath the cloak of your pride, were too deep. That life slipped away from you like sand through fingers, fading before I could confess to you what my heart never had the courage to say. They tell me you fought until your last breath, that you faced death like a brave knight, like a man who never backed down from danger. But not even your strength, nor your unwavering will, could defy it.

When I heard those words, everything stopped. A profound emptiness settled in my chest, one that not even the prayers of the sept can fill. I don’t know what to do with this truth that has been handed to me. The strength of my vows, the devotion to the Seven, all that I have been in this place, seems to crumble at my feet like dust. Every word spoken in this sept, every prayer murmured, no longer comforts me. My soul, which has always belonged to the Seven, now feels farther away than ever. And though my life is a vow to the gods, my heart... my heart has always belonged to you.

The fragrance of the incense that used to fill the sept and bring me peace now feels empty. The air feels heavier, as if every breath were a burden. The empty halls, so familiar, now seem colder, lonelier. My veil, always white and pure, now feels oppressive, as if it casts a shadow over my face, hiding the eyes that once shone with hope, with love. My eyes, which so often looked to the heavens for comfort, now search, in vain, for any sign of you. Where are you now? Where have you gone? That is the question that haunts me, but I cannot find the answers. The faith that once gave me peace now feels like a prison of silence and shadows.

Through the high windows of the sept, the sky is covered with gray clouds, as if the very heavens weep for you. The trees in the garden that always offered me solace now seem somber, their leaves fallen to the ground, as if the wind itself had stopped dancing with them. Even the cold stones I usually walk upon, so familiar, now seem strange, as if the ground that always held me up is no longer so firm. Everything feels more distant, colder. And in the midst of all this, I find myself alone. Lost, trapped between what I must be and what my heart begs me to be.

I have loved you in silence for so long, keeping every piece of my soul for you. And now, that I can no longer expect to see you in the halls of the sept, nor feel the gentle brush of your fingers on my skin during those stolen moments, I find myself lost. I remember the sound of your boots, the way you would approach, always so cautious, as if you feared that the very gravity that bound us would once again pull us apart. The scar on your face, so present, so part of you, and your black gloves, which you always wore, covering the skin marked by so many battles. The lost eye, the gaze that never ceased to shine, despite it all. How could I have pulled away from you, when each one of those marks was a reflection of my love for you?

My heart beats with a desperation I cannot soothe, and my mind torments itself with the memories of those shared moments, of the words I never said, of the kisses that were never given. Now I find myself alone with the silence of the Seven and the eternity of my devotion, and yet my soul remains lost, searching for a comfort I can no longer find.

If the gods are just, I hope they have welcomed you with honor, that wherever you are, you have found the peace you so deserve. I hope you remember every shared laugh, every sigh in the stillness of the night, and that somehow, in some corner of the heavens, you will remember me as I will remember you, as I will always remember you. My love for you was a flame that could never be extinguished, and though my life belongs to the Seven, my love, my soul, has always belonged to you.

With one last prayer on my lips, and the hope that one day, our paths may cross again, I leave you to rest, my beloved.

Forever yours,

Maegelle

୨୧

My beloved,

This will be the last time I write to you. Not because my love for you has faded, but because time has caught up with me, and the end approaches like an unrelenting shadow looming over my soul. The illness has begun to claim me, slow and cruel, like winter covering the earth mercilessly. Psoriasis, the maesters say. First, it was the spots on my neck, then on my hands, those hands you once longed to caress, and now, my love, it is reaching my arms, the ones you once longed to hold tightly, with tenderness.

At first, I resisted, believing my faith would be enough to stop the inevitable progression of this curse, but I have come to understand that there is no escape. My body no longer hurts as much as my soul does. The physical pain is but a shadow compared to the emptiness I feel knowing that soon I will cease to be the woman you were able to love. I do not fear death, I do not fear the judgment of the Seven; my life has already been surrendered to them. The only thing I fear, the only thing that torments me, is forgetting the warmth of your voice, the way you laughed softly when I tried to stay serious in front of you, those moments when you made me forget my vow, my duties, my fate.

The memory of your smile, the way you looked at me, keeps me alive. But now, my love, I fear that the hardness of my skin will become a barrier, that my body will harden so much that I will become a shadow of what I once was, incapable of remembering the gentle caresses of your hands, the kisses we shared between laughter and tears. Sometimes, I wonder if you will still remember those moments as I do, if you will still feel my love wherever you are.

If only I could see you once more. If I could take your face in my hands and feel, even for a single moment, that fate has not been so cruel to us. I wish I could caress your cheeks once more, feel the warmth of your arms surrounding me, those soft kisses of yours, always so beautiful and tender. How I wish I could feel them, like in those days when we forgot the world, when time seemed to stop just for us.

But I know I cannot risk it. I cannot allow you to come near me, for this illness, which has already taken hold of me, will steal your life as it is doing with mine. And so, this will be my farewell, one I will leave in the wind, hoping that somehow, this whisper of my soul reaches you. Perhaps you will never know, but this will be my last act of love, even if it is a goodbye written between tears and pain.

If the gods are merciful, we will meet in the afterlife, where there will be no vows or duties to separate us, where it will only be you and me, where our souls will be free. There, I will be just Maegelle, and you will be just my love, and at last, nothing will tear us apart.

Until then, my love, live for the both of us. Because while the wind crosses the fields and my soul remains alive in some corner of your memories, I will live in you.

With all that remains of me,

Maegelle

୨୧

The sunlight was slowly fading through the window of the small septa room, as if the very day were whispering its farewell. The golden rays barely touched the cold stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to want to envelop Maegelle, wrapping her in her own stillness. The air was heavy with the scent of incense that always surrounded her, a familiar blend that, in other times, used to be comforting. Yet now that very fragrance seemed heavier, as though the walls of the septa were slowly closing in on her.

On her dark wooden table, a scroll rested beside a quill, and the words of her letter flowed slowly, as if the weight of her thoughts and memories were slowing her hand. Her woolen gloves covered her fingers, those hands that had once been warm and full of life, now covered with spots of psoriasis, advancing relentlessly. Though the illness had claimed her body, Maegelle still tried to maintain composure, as if in her soul she refused to fully succumb. Her simple grey linen mantle, which covered her from head to toe, reflected her life of devotion, but even in its humility, there was a sad elegance in her presence. The mantle fell gently over her shoulders, the cold of the stone seeping into her bones as she wrote, each word trembling on the page.

Against her chest, just beneath her mantle, carefully hidden between her gloves, rested the ring. That simple silver band you had once given her, with words of love and promises that always echoed in her memory. She couldn’t help but smile sadly at the thought: "No other woman deserves it," you had said, and in that moment, she had believed every word, like a foolish lover who felt fortunate to be the recipient of such a simple yet meaningful symbol. Now, that same ring was hidden, like all the memories of the happiest days of her life, between her trembling fingers. Despite the illness that consumed her, Maegelle could not let it go; she kept it with a silent desperation, knowing that, even as her body faded, that ring, that small piece of you, would remain hers, somehow, forever.

Tears fell slowly onto the letter, like raindrops gently hitting the window. Maegelle did not try to stop them. In her heart, each tear was a farewell, a testament to all that she had loved. Each word written on that letter was an echo of her memories, proof that, despite her vow and devotion to the Seven, her heart had always belonged to you.