A storm in the north | cregan stark

3

The melancholy sky hung heavy above the castle grounds as the family gathered outside, surrounded by a sea of somber guests who had come to pay their respects at the funeral. A gentle breeze carried the scent of mournful flowers, and the air was hushed with the weight of collective sorrow. Aurelio, dressed in dark attire, stood at the forefront, a stoic figure, flanked by his father and a tearful Aelora. The castle courtyard, once a place of joy and laughter, now resonated with a profound sense of loss. As the High priest offered solemn prayers, the attendees, adorned in muted hues, conveyed their condolences through bowed heads and sympathetic glances. Aelora, clutching a wilted bouquet of white lilies, gazed at the adorned caskets with tear-streaked eyes. The castle walls seemed to echo the subdued whispers of mourning, and the distant tolling of a bell punctuated the poignant atmosphere, marking the farewell to beloved family members. The somber tableau painted a poignant picture of grief, shared by both the castle's inhabitants and the extended family and friends who had come to offer their final farewells.

In the solemn expanse of the castle courtyard, Aelora found herself standing amidst a sea of muted mourners, the air heavy with grief and the scent of funeral flowers. The once-vibrant hues of the castle grounds now seemed drained of life, reflecting the profound shift that had taken place within her world. Clutching the bouquet of white lilies, Aelora's fingertips traced the delicate petals as if trying to anchor herself in the tangible remains of a reality forever altered.

The sight of the draped caskets, each one a final resting place for a parent she adored, sent tremors through her small frame. It felt as if the familiar stones beneath her feet had transformed into an insurmountable abyss, threatening to swallow her whole. Aelora's gaze, usually bright with curiosity and innocence, was now clouded by the shadows of grief.

As the High priest's words resonated through the air, Aelora's inner thoughts echoed with a symphony of conflicting emotions. The enormity of her loss crashed over her in waves—her parents, the architects of her joy, now lay in silent repose. Their absence once inconceivable, now stretched before her like an endless expanse of desolation.
She felt a profound emptiness, a void left by the laughter that used to echo in the castle halls and the comforting embrace of bedtime stories that would no longer weave their magic. The weight of the white lilies in her hand symbolized not only the fragility of life but also the overwhelming burden of sorrow she now carried.

Aelora's heart was a battleground of emotions—anger, confusion, and a gnawing ache that threatened to consume her. She yearned for the warmth of her parents' embrace, for the reassurance that this was just a nightmare from which she would wake. The faces around her blurred into a tapestry of sympathy, their whispered condolences distant echoes in the caverns of her grief-stricken mind.

Yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker of resilience sparked within Aelora. In the midst of her pain, she recognized the collective mourning of those who had come to pay their respects. The castle, once a sanctuary of joy, had become a solemn gathering ground for shared sorrow. Aelora, though overwhelmed, found a bittersweet solace in the communal embrace of mourning—a silent acknowledgment that she was not alone in her grief.

As the high priest's words lingered in the air, Aelora's gaze remained fixed on the caskets, and her internal monologue whispered a poignant realization—she was now a child of loss, a young soul grappling with the harsh truth that life, in all its beauty and fragility, could change in an instant. The journey through grief, unwelcome and arduous, had begun, and Aelora stood at its threshold, facing an uncertain future with courage born of innocence and a heart weighed down by the heaviness of farewell.

In the shadow of the towering castle, where the grief-laden air hung thick with sorrow, the royal family of Westeros had assembled to bid a solemn farewell to a fallen scion of House Targaryen. Aelora, standing among the gathered mourners, found herself amidst a symphony of conflicted emotions woven into the tapestry of royalty and familial bonds.
King Viserys Targaryen, a ruler weighed down by the burdens of the realm, stood with a dignified yet heavy heart. His presence, once a beacon of authority and power, now carried the weight of familial discord. Aelora's father, a beloved brother to the king, had shared a bond that transcended titles and responsibilities. The courtyard, witness to opulent feasts and grand tournaments, now held a congregation united in mourning for the brotherly bond that had once thrived within these ancient walls.