Quote inspired drabbles (1/?)
Title: Scars
Fandom: ASOIAF
Character: Myrcella Baratheon
Warnings: Spoilers for A Feast For Crows
a boy with a scar is nothing, but a girl, it's so much worse - Betty Draper, Mad Men
It takes time until she’s able to look at her reflection. Was it years, weeks, minutes since she woke? Maybe years inside of minutes, she thought, a hysterical laugh threatening to burst.
The heavy, sweet scent of incense curled around her as she walked, one painful step after the other. No walk had ever seemed as painful. Not the first time she visited her father in his crypt, not the steps that took her to the ship that brought her to Dorne.
She clutched, at the walls, her legs week and unsteady like a newborn fowl’s.
It’s one room, I can do this.
She almost wept with relief when she reached the table. Myrcella sat down and reached for the mirror with shaky hands.
Open your eyes. You made it this far, you can do that.
She summed all the bravery she had, called on her Lannister blood, her Baratheon blood, anything she could and opened her eyes.
Oh Gods, why?
She’d been pretty, she knew that. Her fingers trailed over the left side of her face, feeling the sticky poultice and where the skin had been stitched together, the hole where her ear used to be. It felt numb, like she was touching someone else’s wounds. But that was ridiculous, she didn’t remember ever touching anyone else’s wounds, she thought desperately. Myrcella and her brothers were far too well guarded to have any cuts and bruises and she’d never dared to be too close to the Hound, with his horribly burned face.
I should have been nicer to him. We look alike now.
Myrcella felt the shock seep away, the numbness along with it. Suddenly it became too much. The sound of the curtains rustling became too loud, the incense too overpowering. Tears prickled her eyes and she wanted to cry for her mother, for Ser Arys, for anyone.
But her mother was in King’s Landing and Ser Arys was dead and she was alone.
Alone enough to cry. Just for a little while.
Fandom: ASOIAF
Character: Myrcella Baratheon
Warnings: Spoilers for A Feast For Crows
a boy with a scar is nothing, but a girl, it's so much worse - Betty Draper, Mad Men
It takes time until she’s able to look at her reflection. Was it years, weeks, minutes since she woke? Maybe years inside of minutes, she thought, a hysterical laugh threatening to burst.
The heavy, sweet scent of incense curled around her as she walked, one painful step after the other. No walk had ever seemed as painful. Not the first time she visited her father in his crypt, not the steps that took her to the ship that brought her to Dorne.
She clutched, at the walls, her legs week and unsteady like a newborn fowl’s.
It’s one room, I can do this.
She almost wept with relief when she reached the table. Myrcella sat down and reached for the mirror with shaky hands.
Open your eyes. You made it this far, you can do that.
She summed all the bravery she had, called on her Lannister blood, her Baratheon blood, anything she could and opened her eyes.
Oh Gods, why?
She’d been pretty, she knew that. Her fingers trailed over the left side of her face, feeling the sticky poultice and where the skin had been stitched together, the hole where her ear used to be. It felt numb, like she was touching someone else’s wounds. But that was ridiculous, she didn’t remember ever touching anyone else’s wounds, she thought desperately. Myrcella and her brothers were far too well guarded to have any cuts and bruises and she’d never dared to be too close to the Hound, with his horribly burned face.
I should have been nicer to him. We look alike now.
Myrcella felt the shock seep away, the numbness along with it. Suddenly it became too much. The sound of the curtains rustling became too loud, the incense too overpowering. Tears prickled her eyes and she wanted to cry for her mother, for Ser Arys, for anyone.
But her mother was in King’s Landing and Ser Arys was dead and she was alone.
Alone enough to cry. Just for a little while.