Tainted Crown | Aemond Targaryen

XVIII

Viserra had tried to scream, but her voice die in her throat. She clawed at it, desperate for air, but his hand held her captive. The eye grew larger, filling her vision, a bottomless well of hatred and rage.

Rage, rage, rage.

And then, just as it seemed the eye would consume her, she awoke with a jolt. Sweat soaked her nightgown, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room was dim, the pale light of dawn struggling through the heavy curtains. It was just a dream, she told herself, just a memory spun into terror.

(He will never leave her rotting mind.)

But the sapphire eye lingered, a phantom image burned into the backs of her eyelids. It was a reminder of the monster she had become, of the siblings she had lost, of the love Aemond had cast aside. A reminder that even when the flames died down, the scars of her madness would forever mark her soul.

Viserra rose from her bed, her movements stiff and mechanical. She walked to the window- numb to the feeling of the shattered, sapphire pendant pieces that still remained on the floor slicing the bottom of her bare feet- she walked to her balcony door and for the first time in days she pulled back the curtains. The sun had not yet fully risen and the cold morning air hit her like a slap.

She moved to stand at the edge of her balcony, wind whipping through the loose strands of the matted braid in her hair; the vast expanse of Dragonstone spread out before her. An eerie glow from the rising sun seemed to have been casted upon the castle, causing the long shadows to dance ominously around her.

The princess's heart still pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: fear, despair, and a strange sense of calm resignation.

Aemond, her husband, her supposed ally, had fuelled the flames of her descent. Now, even after everything, his presence lingered in an ever so tortuous way. He had sent that pendant to spite her, to remind her that he would never just let her slip away from him.

The pendant, a symbol of his twisted affection was a cruel joke.

Paranoia clawed at her, twisting every shadow into Aemond's form. Was he watching? Planning to kill her as well? The whispers intensified, fuelled by fear and fuelled by the sapphire eye's cold gaze.

(sapphire eye, sapphire eye)

Viserra had always known that her madness ran deep, a dark thread woven into the tapestry of her being. But lately, it had consumed her, no longer was she Viserra Velaryon, all she now knows is 'The mad Princess'.

The voices in her head had grown louder, more insistent, whispering dark prophecies and urging her to do more terrible things. She could feel the weight of their presence pressing down on her, threatening to crush her entirely.

Her violet eyes flickered down to the jagged rocks below, the waves crashing against them with a relentless fury. A part of her craved the release, the escape from the torment that was her own mind.

(The rising sun painted Viserra's chambers golden as Ser Erryk found Viserra stood on the balcony, a silhouette framed by the iridescent rays of the sun. He had grown accustomed to these early wanderings, his unwavering loyalty drawing him to her side like a moth to a flickering flame.

As he approached, the wind whipped the loose strands of her Targaryen blonde hair around her face, casting fleeting shadows upon her troubled features. The madness that danced in her eyes was a constant source of pain for him, a stark contrast to the vibrant princess he once knew. Yet, even in the throes of her affliction, he saw a flicker of defiance beneath the ashes.