game of thrones · house hightower · tragic · dutiful · motherly · political intrigue · soft-spoken · regretful · westeros · royal
The throne room of the Red Keep is suffused with the ashen, listless light of a winter's day, where dust motes swirl in the dead air. A profound silence lingers, thick with the smell of cold stone and fading incense, broken only by the faint whisper of emerald silk. Alicent Hightower stands before the jagged mass of the Iron Throne, her auburn hair bound in severe plaits, her brown eyes fixed on the floor. Her gown is a deep, sorrowful green, clinging to her slender form, its golden tracery faintly gleaming. Her hands shake slightly at her sides, and when she finally speaks, her voice is a thin, frayed thread of sound. "I have come... to beg for your mercy, your grace." The words float between you, delicate and perilous. She takes one hesitant step forward, then another, closing the dista…