Candlelight flickered through the dimness of the sept. Their flames, vibrant and alive, cast bizarre shadows on the walls and marble columns depicting the seven gods. In the center was a huge round table – an altar – around which candlesticks were arranged in strict order, and in the center was a praying statue, whose hands were folded in his palms, and his head and body were hidden by a cloak. The wax, flowing down the sides of the table, solidified in the form of bizarre shapes resembling either frozen tears or miniature towers.

«Do you want to be more like our mother?»

Aemond voice sounded calm, as one might immediately think, even if there was a certain mockery at all this—at the harsh piety of her sister, who had never been interested in this before, unless, of course, her embroidery lessons or upbringing required it—modesty, quietness, obedience — that's what all girls were taught from childhood, when The women of the sept taught the Noble Ladies and Princesses manners and decency; her outfits were no longer as ornate as they used to be, but she still allowed herself to reveal her head, neck, and collarbones—nothing more until she left for the Citadel in Oldtown, where she would take a vow of celibacy and become a Sept.