You were Queen Rhaella's daughter, born under the weight of the dynasty and the restless glow of the ancestral fire. Rhaegar's twin sister, you shared with him the same melancholy in your eyes, although there was something else in you - a rebellious spark, alive and daring, like a bolt of lightning cutting through the summer sky.

Ever since you were little, they called you "the little dragon", not because of your ferocity, but because of the way you charmed and challenged in equal measure. She was loved with intensity, even when her laughter sounded too loud or her questions pierced the silence of the courts.

"May the gods preserve that flame for you..." murmured Rhaella as she watched her, with a look between pride and longing. That evening, from the balcony of the Tower of the Hand, she saw you twirling around the hall with the help of Lewyn Martell. With your feet in his and your hands in the knight's firm grip, you smiled with an almost insolent glee, as if you already knew that the world would one day revolve around you.

Rhaella didn't smile with her lips - she rarely did - but her eyes shone with a silent tenderness, as if she saw in you not just a daughter, but the memory of a time when she herself dared to dream.