#serenei

Possession

( Closed starter with @davos-allyrion )

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Serenei gazed down at the spiraling, wine cellar steps built deep inside the Red Keep. She paused, then bent over.

Yellow hair swept over Serenei's ankles whIle she worked to unfasten her sabots. She stepped out of the shoes and clapped them once together to loosens the dirt from their stiff, leather heels before tucking them into her armpit. Serenei flexed her toes against the rim of the stone steps, feeling the pleasant chill through her hose. With one hand grazing the wall and the other holding up her generous skirts, the servant girl descended. She ignored the candlestick that sat on a bench beside the lone torch in the hallway. It illuminated only the top of the stairwell. After two turns of the staircase, she was stepping counter-clockwise in darkness, counting each step, locating them only with her toes. Serenei knew better than to bring a light into the cellar. If the Red Keep staff caught her in this place with her superior lurking nearby, it would spoil the entire mission. She would hide in the shadowy recesses made by the wine casks until any potential interlopers left. Her superior did not expect they would be disturbed here. But, Serenei had yet to see his judgement proven steadfast. She relied on her intuition, always. It was all she had.

The bottom of the stairwell was cast in impenetrable black. Serenei lifted her leg out and found the ground there was flat, finally. She wondered if she were not alone, hoped even, that there was someone waiting for her in the dark. It was exhilarating. She felt truly alive under these conditions, every sense tuned towards the dark, using her hands and feet to measure every inch of the room, feeling her heart hammer. She found an alcove by touch and decided to wait there.

Eu valorizo muito quem caminha ao meu lado e divide comigo os percalços da vida. E vale mais quem enxuga tuas lágrimas, quem te acolhe nas quedas! Quem vê tuas futilidades e fragilidades e não foge. Eu não fujo mas também não forço passagem. Eu mereço amor e me dou amor todos os dias. Diferente de uma parte significativa do mundo que se odeia e odeia os outros. Eu me amo, e me acolho. E me orgulho dos meus caminhos até aqui. Sei que sou falha, que nem sempre acerto, e tenho coragem e discernimento para me desculpar quando necessário, e por vezes é necessário. Mas ao longo desse processo eu aprendi a observar com mais cuidado. Se alguém tem a oportunidade de te mandar mensagem e não manda? Se alguém tem a oportunidade de se fazer presente e não faz?

I wanted to draw Serenei in a nice dress.

(Closed starter with @tyshara-the-lioness )

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Serenei crept towards the solar, cat-like. The floor in this area of the castle was wood lofted over the stone foundation to insulate the genteel ladies of house Lannister from the seaside chill that blew in from the frigid western ocean. Serenei stepped methodically, memorizing the places where the planks creaked. She doubted Tyshara and Johanna would hear her approach the heavy, oak door that stifled the conversation inside. But, Serenei knew the importance of tactile information-- she could memorize the layout of this place in the dark. Just at she had memorized the interior of her father’S ships. Just as she had memorized the layouts of Dornish courts and the passages inside private, Volantene vaults. Serenei did not press her ear to the door. She had absorbed enough of the conversation to discern its contents were mediocre, not the sort of intelligence that could loft her into an indispensable position. This was all half-rate, women’s issues-- gossip, just as Lady Johanna had said. Serenei walked backwards until she rounded the corner again, counting. Twenty, twenty-one… she was quick about it. Her intuition was that Tyshara or Johanna would leave soon. Serenei wasn't royalty, but she knew what it was like to disagree with a parent.The heavy door handle clicked before it opened. Serenei waited. She heard the door slam shut. Someone hurriedly approached. She stumbled around the corner, head bowed, leading with her injured hand, not so that they collided, but close enough to collision to force a conversation. Serenei straightened. She settled into that dumb, placid expression the rich expected. Lips parted, eyes wide, she stammered, “Oh-! Lady Tyshara, you're hurt…” Serenei swept into a bow where eyes fell to Tyshara's bloodstained sleeve. She clutched her own palm close to her chest. Her forefinger and palm were bound in strips of faded linen. She still had a wad of bandages in the pockets that hung over her petticoats. This was all so, what was the word…?

Fortuitous. Serenei smiled. “Will you please let me dress your wounds, Milady? Oh, please. I feel terrible. I beg you, please. Allow me to help.”