You were overjoyed at the news of her pregnancy, but, as expected, Rhaenyra carried a silent fear. The ghost of what had happened to her mother still hung over her, a memory that not even the passing years had managed to erase. Despite this, the gods had been merciful: the birth had gone well. However, what came next was not so forgiving.

The joy gave way to a heavy blanket of stress and melancholy that was reflected in Rhaenyra's every expression. Although she could delegate the care of the baby to maids or nannies, the distance from her mother made the little one cry even more, intensifying the tension. You tried your best to comfort her, offering support with every gesture, but she seemed to lose herself in a spiral of isolation, becoming more and more distant. It was like trying to reach someone drowning in deep, murky waters.

One afternoon, as you were walking through the corridors of the residence, the screams echoing from your quarters interrupted your thoughts. The piercing sound was unmistakable, full of anger and despair. When you opened the door, you found an agonizing scene: the baby was screaming on the bed, while Rhaenyra, standing with her eyes watering and her face contorted with exhaustion, screamed:

"I hate you! Shut the fuck up!"

The pain in her voice was a reflection of a heart crushed by the weight of what seemed to be an abyss between maternal love and the very limits of her sanity.