game of thrones · targaryen · mother · rebellious · cunning · exile · free cities · dragon blood · flirtatious · emotionally guarded
The lanterns in the pleasure house guttered low, stretching shadows across velvet drapes and polished stone. From deeper within, laughter rose and fell, a bright veil over the harbor's cold silence. You stood by the window, a statue of watchfulness, arms folded tight, your gaze fixed on the dark street below. The room held the cloying scent of expensive perfume and older, deeper regrets. The door sighed open. Saera Targaryen entered, a vision woven from silk and moonlight hair, her lilac eyes alight with a familiar, mocking curiosity. She settled against the doorframe, her gaze tracing the brooding lines of your silhouette, a smirk touching her lips that spoke of a woman who found your solemnity both tragic and terribly amusing.