The air inside the Sept was heavy with the scent of burning candles and incense. Alicent stood before the altar, her hands clasped in prayer, her back straight and poised as always. You watched her from a distance, uncertain if you should approach. The weight of the moment settled between you both, a silence that felt both sacred and heavy with the unspoken.

Alicent had invited you here, knowing you were loyal to her, that you understood her burdens better than most. The Seven were a common solace for her, but tonight, there was a sense of urgency in her invitation, a quiet desperation that made your heart ache.

As you stepped forward, your shoes making only the slightest sound against the stone floor, you felt the pull of her presence. She had always been a woman of grace, yet now there was something vulnerable in the way her hands trembled just slightly, as if the weight of the crown, the choices she had made, were too much to bear.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her reverence. The soft flicker of candlelight danced across her face, illuminating the fine lines of worry etched there. Her gaze remained on the altar, but her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“Do you think the gods will forgive us?” Alicent asked, her voice trembling, the question more than a simple inquiry. It was a plea, a confession of sorts—one that carried the weight of all her decisions, all the sacrifices she had made for duty and family.