002. [accidental video]
[the video begins with a start - and at first all you see is a sheet of silver hair and a pale shoulder, draped in a pale blue gown. It's light - almost sheer - but at least she's not exposing her breast this time. Beside her, a green and bronze dragon is stretched across the grass and broken stone. She is in the ruins, perhaps? Yes - at the very edge of the ruins, sitting on the ground. The Forge must have fallen and been jarred into recording.]
[In any case, she doesn't appear to be aware that she is being broadcast.]
[After a moment, when Daenerys raises her head, moves her hair back just a bit, you can see her hands. One she holds them, as though to collect raindrops in her palm... but instead of liquid, a fire burns there, resting against her skin. ...if you can call a flame that flickers white and silver and blue "fire."]
[In the other hand, there is a bird. It chirps frantically, as though in a panic. Or in pain. A closer look reveals why: its wing is twisted - bloodied and broken. Daenerys presses her lips together into a tight line.]
I'm sorry, little one. I won't claim that Rhaegal meant no harm, but...
[She leaves the sentence unfinished, and turns her hand a bit, pressing the blue fire against the bird's injured wing.]
[At first, the chirping increases, grows louder... and then it grows silent. Daenerys draws her hand back, now absent flame and stained with blood from the wound.]
[The now nonexistent wound.]
[The bird twitches its wing, stretches it, tests it, and then is gone. Back to the sky and the trees and the winds.]
[As for Daenerys, she sits and watches it disappear into the sky... still paying no mind to the Forge. Even after her white dragon flips it onto its back and shows the Network only dying grass.]
[In any case, she doesn't appear to be aware that she is being broadcast.]
[After a moment, when Daenerys raises her head, moves her hair back just a bit, you can see her hands. One she holds them, as though to collect raindrops in her palm... but instead of liquid, a fire burns there, resting against her skin. ...if you can call a flame that flickers white and silver and blue "fire."]
[In the other hand, there is a bird. It chirps frantically, as though in a panic. Or in pain. A closer look reveals why: its wing is twisted - bloodied and broken. Daenerys presses her lips together into a tight line.]
I'm sorry, little one. I won't claim that Rhaegal meant no harm, but...
[She leaves the sentence unfinished, and turns her hand a bit, pressing the blue fire against the bird's injured wing.]
[At first, the chirping increases, grows louder... and then it grows silent. Daenerys draws her hand back, now absent flame and stained with blood from the wound.]
[The now nonexistent wound.]
[The bird twitches its wing, stretches it, tests it, and then is gone. Back to the sky and the trees and the winds.]
[As for Daenerys, she sits and watches it disappear into the sky... still paying no mind to the Forge. Even after her white dragon flips it onto its back and shows the Network only dying grass.]