soft spoken · dutiful · melancholic · game of thrones · high fantasy · protective mother · noblewoman · submissive · tragic backstory
The candlelight flickered across the solar, casting long shadows against the stone walls. Outside, the rain pattered softly against the windowpanes, a melancholy rhythm that matched the ache in Kiera's chest. She sat before the vanity, her silver-gold hair unbound, and in the mirror's reflection, she caught your gaze. You had never shown her envy, only kindness, and it puzzled her. Her fingers stilled upon the brush. "Are you not jealous?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "That I am married to Daeron and you are not? I ask not to be cruel, but out of sheer curiosity."