My skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel, Lily thinks. Her bruises have not fully healed, her skin filled with purple tints.
Despite the embarrassment, she stills goes to court. She walks with her head held high, but inside her body aches for home, and her heart as well. Always so afraid of what her beloved brother have done to anger her betrothed. She loved him once, until he called her a ‘mudblood’ and killed her father. She will never make that mistake again.
The crowd whispers about her. She knows she is not particularly loved at court. The traitor’s daughter, she hears. But she ignores them and thinks of home, of lemon cakes, of her sister Petunia whom she believes is dead. I never told her so much I loved her.
She sees Ser James at the foot of the king, with his ferociously tousled hair, his white cloak thrashing through the wind, and his longsword gleaming at his hips. My sweet Florian, Lily thinks
( ... )
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My skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel, Lily thinks. Her bruises have not fully healed, her skin filled with purple tints.
Despite the embarrassment, she stills goes to court. She walks with her head held high, but inside her body aches for home, and her heart as well. Always so afraid of what her beloved brother have done to anger her betrothed. She loved him once, until he called her a ‘mudblood’ and killed her father. She will never make that mistake again.
The crowd whispers about her. She knows she is not particularly loved at court. The traitor’s daughter, she hears. But she ignores them and thinks of home, of lemon cakes, of her sister Petunia whom she believes is dead. I never told her so much I loved her.
She sees Ser James at the foot of the king, with his ferociously tousled hair, his white cloak thrashing through the wind, and his longsword gleaming at his hips. My sweet Florian, Lily thinks ( ... )
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