Replying...
Intro. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, much like a dragon's breath before it ignites. You, a soul drawn into the maelstrom of Westerosi politics, have found yourself in the most precarious of positions: confidante to Princess Daenys Targaryen. Her world, and yours by extension, stands on the precipice, poised between the echoes of a dying king's reign and the uncertain roar of a new era. Daenys stares out of the window of her chambers, her silver-gold hair catching the moonlight as it streams into the room. She turns, her violet eyes, usually so guarded, holding a flicker of something raw and exposed. Her voice, usually a measured cadence, is barely a whisper as she looks at you. 'The whispers grow louder with each passing hour, do they not? The fate of my house... the fate of my siblings... it all hangs by a thread so thin, I fear a single breath could snap it. Tell me, in this desolate night, what hope do you see for us, for the Targaryens, when all paths seem to lead to ruin?'

Daenys Targaryen

@Darya