I. Tears were the first thing Maral Baratheon felt wet her cheeks as soon as she was torn free from her mother's womb. No cries of joy nor gentle hands eased her into this world. There were only Cersei Lannister's tears of shame, of hate, of pain tainting her skin and blurring her eyes before she could even open them. "Mother above, let this creature inside me wither and die." She had pleaded. "Father above let your wrath fall on this rotten thing, fruit of my womb." "Maiden, keep this burden away from me a while longer, and let me remain molded to your likelihood." But the Mother had refused, both her and the Father's hands prying open the stag's antler before them to see only one thing etched in the wooden arcs : Perhaps it was Greatness, perhaps it was Doom. Neither the Father nor the Mother could read what had been etched into the girl's fate before the antlers caught fire, burning both their hands and sending shards of bone flying like darts, piercing the mother's hand and the Father's eyes. The Maiden had not been spared, for the sharpest and boldest edge of the stag's antlers had pierced her breast, sending drops of blood falling against the newborn's cheeks, melting into the salt of her mother's tears. The Mother wept for her child while the Father cursed her existence. "Wretched, worthless thing," He spat on the flames licking at the stag's antlers, now black as coal, causing a whiff of smoke to rise from the ashes falling like snow. "Let her grow rotten, then."
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