“ oh, i am most certain some sort of arrangement will come to pass and remedy us all for these whispers we are burdened with. ”  for what cousin of hers has ever known to bear struggle? to yearn for something and not have it presented to them i the many facets of gold, silver and undeserving adoration. even such an act,  a defiance  to the queen herself and meralith holds certain hardly a hair on the head of the crown prince will be touched. “ they did get what they wanted, two kingdoms joined now. ”  she stifles the roll of violet eyes that dare to signal anything but the same worry he displays, as if a mirror is held to his face and if he were to shed a tear from the left eye, she would too from the right. perfectly calculated. “ you must have some thoughts on the matter, lord rhys? ”  and does she merely desire him to talk out of curiosity, pleasantries or something greater?

"I suppose that not even the Gods foresaw what was to happen at this wedding. I thought weddings weren't supposed to have false brides." She said, her gaze unreadable as she hid a slight smirk behind her goblet as she took a sip and returned the goblet to the table, her smile returning as soon as the goblet left her lips.

          such words, ones that may hold all the venom that could poison even the most paranoid, are as sickly sweet as golden honey to the lady of claw isle. the one trapped away in a tower who now finds pleasure in the most cruel forms that give way to a cousin's error.  even if it is to be whispers.  simple whispers that hold little merit for anything past satisfying a desire prayed to the gods of old valyria to be true, that lions, wolves and krakens, roam the courts for a dragon unguarded. “ and yet, they each worship their own. ” she assumes with not even a glance to pay the lady respect until she settles the wandering thought in her mind. now prayed to be words spread by listening ears. “ if they are angered, is this not their wrath? ” or has their lord of light truly found favor with the princess over the bloodline of dragons.

Molly McCully Brown, from Places I’ve Taken my Body: Essays

in her head , she allowed herself to play a little game . quite a childish distraction to not give herself away . tonight , she is far from anything she is supposed to be , and she convinced herself enough to find joy in it . a cup ( or three ) have helped , now she feels less of the anxiety and the discomfort that ate at her desire to even attend . the longer she looked , the more she found the charm of what she had been gifted to done for tonight ' s festivities . ❝ we have met before , but it also seems we have not . it's quite ... thrilling trying to figure who you are underneath the mask . ❞ the more people failed to tell it was her , the more the appeal of speaking her mind grew .

          “ thrilling, ” the phase is repeated as if a foreign object in her mouth, but meralith cannot claim knowledge of who lingers behind the mask by voice alone, even as she burrows judgement ladened eyes upon her company. “ terrifying if you do not know what beast you might find. ” and how stark struck the wonderment is in the eyes of this one, it could almost  induce an envious nature.  “ so we shall play a game, ” the celtigar daughter places hands together, folded before her as if to wait in peace and pleasantry. “ we will each share something and the other is to guess. a region, is fair enough for now. ” and the prize? it is unbeknownst to her, the wide - eyed lady who finds this all certainly thrilling, to meralith it is the answer of the strokes of an ink feathered pen in a raven's letter from claw isle. a sister has a duty to a brother, and demand of a father.

          “ brother, ” a single word and how it holds so much behind it as if aryros is to chastise, an upper hand never dealt to him in life and now he claims the stance higher. if only for a moment it is there, pulled taut at lip corners to relish in this fleeting satisfaction a mask keeps secret as if done behind closed doors. “ should you not be careful with your words in such spaces? ” what golden ram horns and black ink that shrouds him cannot guise is tone, one of a  juvenile mindset  to think himself above. “ i believe it was lord zalyne, of braavos, who said to me earlier that our support must lie with our princess, soon these will be her people too. at least pretend to find them tolerable in open air. ” 

          the metaphorical is so quick to become reality, rammed into by a vision of pale blue fabric that causes a weighted step back and a reach to grasp the forearm of whoever is nearest for stability. if only he knew the arm he holds onto is one of familiarity. but the mask, dark leather obstructs vision and intoxication  relinquishes memory  of a tone he would have claimed to be a siren's call, even in a desert. “ i'd like to think it would take more than a bump to injure me, my lady. ” once fingers no longer press against soft flesh he glances back, the sight of a broad shouldered man elbowing his way through a crowd as a blade would through parchment, intended. “ shall we go reclaim honour for the court? ” he offers an arm, a means to place her footing first on the path. a stranger with another to follow a third, and neither shall know a name nor a face.

          his agreement comes in silence and his own cup emptying with each passing moment until it is placed beside the mask chosen. reprieve only allotted in the presence of a select few before the  golden ram horns  will claim his identity once again. “ if anyone can spot the princess. ” tonight identities were traded, stolen and removed and as his eyes lift, a glance around the room proves aryros could find royalty passing without a thought, nor acknowledgement given that otherwise might rally against social etiquettes in this new land. “ or any of them, have you caught a glimpse of any face under a mask? anyone of note? ” 

"I can only hope there is an artist among us who will commit these memories to something more permanent than memory." Myranda's hands ghosted over the wooden bodice, down to the embroidered red leaves at her hips, pulling and plucking at the stitches absently. Her mask all but obliterated her peripheral vision, so anytime she wished to look, she had to turn her whole head. It meant she couldn't watch subtly, the white face atop her own facing anyone she wished to watch, though she didn't mind. She found, wearing a mask, she felt free, entirely untethered from herself in the best way. Free enough to strike up conversation with anybody and everybody, no one around her was safe from it. "It would be a shame, for such incredible sights to be lost to time, as all things must be. Memories haze over the years, and some of these designs deserve to live forever. Don't you agree?"

          “ they do say it is the things we do for vanity. ” or something of the sort eyva had waved off absentmindedly each time such criticism was brought to her feet as if an offering to the seven against her. but it is then, when she too turns to gaze upon the lady with  wooden embellishment   that a pink rose obstructs her view, not from mask but placed in her hair. pink petals and jagged edged leaves press against rosy cheeks, pinched until they match the garments shade. “ but if i am ever to wear such things again i would like to be able to see to either side. ” some might claim paranoia, but eyva always claims her intuition to be her greatest asset, her sight, a great weapon, one now obstructed, not even able to see what or who is to come up behind her. a bard out of tune perhaps? there is always one lurking about.

          a father's words, but his holds wisdom, not a bitterness lapped up like a dog to stew in his own rage, the same poison the ruling lord celtigar has pierced the hearts of his children with. and so, this saying is foreign. rational. and it holds her tongue in response until she finds the growing silence a screech,  a banshee's cry,  she cannot ignore. “ the very same. i told you, i am also to meet someone. ” she lies, but it does not sound as if she possesses a false tongue, rather her voice is serene and steady as if the waves before a storm. the first calm. “ and what are you to do if your someone does not arrive? ” fingertips toy with the wearing fabric on dulled sheen sleeves, the only time idle hands reveal uncertainty. “ are they to be in search of a wolf? ” a northerner.

an amused  look  had  colored  their  face when they'd first laid eyes on the costume dragon queen had selected. was a masquerade not intended to conceal one's identity? trystane shaped it as a kindness, despite knowing it a false belief, for he felt most at ease when surrounded by flowers; now they adorned every inch of his coat.  ❝ it seems we tyrells were all assigned similar themes, ❞   they remarked as they stood beside one of their siblings.

          “ you and i are obvious. ” to be adorned in a bed of roses an effortless feat. and how proud victaria might be that eyva too shares in presenting house tyrell, even when identity is so readily taken to secrecy this evening. “ but to have a diamond in the garden, how lucky we must be. ” still, to be someone else for a night, before the sun came again and  darkness shrouded intent  truly felt an opportunity missed, much like the prying petal eye of a sister when any lord or lady of the reach crossed before them. “ and you too have been in search of a flower? hopefully not a weed without the proper help. ” the desperation her mother held to have her say in the hand the current heir would take could be felt with every glance made, every word spoken and every prospect pondered.

          “ this fabric is stifling. ” relief was once found in a gentle breeze, tittering too close to the floor's edge of a room where stone and air meet, but here, it disappears. now a pink rose  in name and ornamentation  where dyed rose petal shaded fabric is scooped between arms in her three step waddle to return and as if she lay in a bed of flowers where the pollen would surely coat the air like a puffed cloud, so does her garment, pooling around her once both find stillness adjacent to the one claimed fairest rose. “ you look lovely. ” eyes that hold all the warmth of the sun offer earnest sincerity. “ is this the game they are to play? first a rose now a jewel, you are already arranged to marry. will they dress you as dragon food next to tantalize him? ”

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁   𝚄𝙽𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳   .   .   .      𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀   (   four   /   𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋   )   𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌.

          a distinguished gait, one that could belong to no other ceases. a pull from what lay ahead to drown him in the waters of  adoration and affection  the moment his footing would allow him further. instead it is a turn of frame. “ consider me surprised, ” his antics pull at  ( unintended )  dramatics, a mask removed and his own never shy to showcase the features etched by the seven, of marble and valyrian. “ you, in hiding? i would have never assumed. ” violet irises ladened with judgment serve to remind the shadows are a comfort for only one. “ unless? do share, i have always wanted to know what daring escape in dire circumstance might lead you to scaling a wall. ” words drip with satire as if they had been coated in honey, thick and golden as the costume adorned, and all of this as if to provoke undivided attention. “ slipping back on a mask might be a promising start. ”