𝘿𝙀𝙄𝙍𝘿𝙍𝙀 𝙍𝙄𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎 was haunted by the memories of a life she could never live. A husband she could never have and a heart she could never truly hold. And a warmth that could never linger within her chest. Eyes of pale lilac were all she kn...
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ I. 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑾𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆 96ᴀᴄ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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AEMMA WATCHED DEIRDRE IN HER VANITY TABLE'S MIRROR. The older girl was stood behind her, running a brush through the half-Targaryen's silver-gold hair. Aemma had only one feature from her father; her baby blue eyes. Alysanne always said she looked near identical to Daella, Aemma's mother.
Aemma never had the Valyrian mindset of her Targaryen kin. She had been raised to e youngest of House Arryn, her elder siblings all having her father's — Rodrik Arryn — brown hair and blue eyes. She had been young when she first met her grandparents, but she could still remember a time before them, before Viserys.
The more she watched the older girl, the more beauty she found in Deirdre's bright hair (even if it was still an eyesore in the candlelight). Red hair was not a common colour in the realm, she had not seen a single person with such odd hair in the Vale, so it must have come from her father in the Riverlands.
As if feeling the prodding of Aemma's stare, Deirdre looked up at her in the mirror. She blushed a colour not dissimilar to her hair.
"What is it, your grace?" Deirdre asked, pinning the Lady's hair back from her face.
Aemma sighed like a child (well, she was, after all, five-and-ten). "I am terribly bored," she replied, widening her eyes to look as childlike as possible.
