Alicent sat by the fire, her fingers delicately tracing the edge of her glass. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the flames. She looked lost in thought, distant, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment had been building for a long time.

You had always admired her strength—her ability to command a room, her composure in the face of any challenge. But lately, that strength had felt more like a wall between you, one that she refused to let you past. It wasn’t the power she wielded that bothered you; it was the quiet emptiness that lingered in the space where words should have been.

You had tried to be patient, to wait for her to say it, but it had been long enough. Too long. “You never say it,” you finally said, the words hanging in the air between you, sharp and quiet.

Alicent didn’t look at you. Her gaze stayed fixed on the fire, but you could see her body tense, her jaw tightening. She had known this moment was coming.

“I can’t,” she muttered, barely above a whisper.

“Why?” you pressed, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. “Why can’t you just say it? After everything.”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to you, but she quickly looked away, almost as if ashamed. “It’s not that simple,” she replied, her voice distant.

“But it is,” you insisted, frustration boiling over. “It’s just three words, Alicent. Why can’t you say them? I’ve given you everything, and all I want is that one thing from you.”

She exhaled slowly, a deep sigh escaping her lips. “I’m not like you,” she said quietly, her voice full of something you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t just say it. It’s… too much.”

The weight of her words crushed you, the silence between you stretching on. You wanted to say something, to make her understand, but you couldn’t find the words.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Alicent stood up, her movements stiff, her face unreadable. She looked at you, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “I… I can’t.”