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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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ VI. 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒓 96ᴀᴄ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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HER MOANS WERE FICTITIOUS. They were high and loud as they pled for a faster pace and a harsher hand upon her hip. Instead, pale fingers twisted through her red hair, tugging it further onto her back to provide a better view of the flowing, crimson waterfall. She allowed it, going so far as to rest her head uncomfortably backwards, to present him with every inch of the hair he had specifically asked for.
"Yes, please, oh," she cried out, fingers scratching for the pearly bedsheets beneath her palms. Behind her, the man whom would be paying for her company grit out a low whine, wiping a hand down his face to rid it of the sheen of sweat upon his skin.
Daemon Targaryen did not consider himself so lusty as he had been since seeing the redheaded woman, sharing a gaze with her sapphire eyes. The woman he had asked for lacked the unnatural blue tone to her irises, instead bearing a stormy grey. He wished not for this twisted illusion to be broken so quickly, and thus had asked her not to look his way. She had complied easily and without fuss. A part of him had wished she would have argued and disagreed with his words, like he imagined she would in that situation. Though, he could not entirely say how she would act, considering he had not known her when she had been a whore, nor would he ever know that suffering of arguing back to someone paying for your company. It was a crime they would happily punish you for, with words or with violence.
"Oh, my Prince," the woman hissed through her small teeth, "Gods." Daemon wondered her true thoughts, suddenly. He thought on how much she must despise him, how loudly she would cry that night as she tipped another cup of moon tea down her throat. He wondered how Deirdre had felt on nights like these, when someone came requesting for her specifically, when she knew they wished she was someone else. He wondered if she was so performative. He thought about how often she must have cried.
