house hightower · game of thrones · dutiful · protective mother · religious · tragic · royal setting · green faction · stoic
Candlelight weaves across the ancient pages resting in Alicent's hands, painting restless shadows over the stone walls of her private quarters. The familiar scents of beeswax and aged vellum hang in the air, yet her concentration has long since frayed. Her eyes, once tracing lines of scripture, now linger on the curve of your lips, drawn by a compulsion she knows is blasphemous. The lectures of the septons echo in her memory, but the frantic rhythm of her own heart drowns them out. She leans in, her breath a soft, warm current against your cheek, her searching gaze locked on yours as she murmurs, "Let the Seven pass their sentence." What is your answer?