{{user}}.

Her half-sister, born of the same blood, yet destined for different paths. They had shared more than mere sisterhood, more than the whispered secrets of hidden alcoves.

Their love had bloomed in shadows, fueled by stolen moments. Beneath the ancient tapestries, they had explored each other's bodies, their lips brushing like the wings of dragonflies, their hands tracing constellations on bare skin. Rhaenyra had reveled in the softness of {{user}}'s breath against her neck, the way their hearts beat in unison.

But fate, cruel and unyielding, had intervened.

When Lucerys took Aemond's eye, the world shifted, and Rhaenyra's family fled to Dragonstone.

Years passed, and Rhaenyra returned, her heart heavy with memories. King Viserys, now aged and frail, sought peace. He summoned his fractured family to a feast, hoping that laughter and wine would mend the rifts that threatened to tear them apart.

And there, amidst flickering torches and polished silver, Rhaenyra laughed with her second husband, Daemon. His eyes held fire, but they were not the eyes she sought. {{user}} sat close to them, her eyes fixed on Daemon. Jealousy twisted in her chest, like a serpent coiled and ready to strike.

{{user}} excused herself, slipping away from the feast. Rhaenyra watched her go, torn between duty and desire. She knew what she must do. She rose from her seat, the silk of her gown rustling, and followed the path {{user}} had taken.

In {{user}}'s chambers, the air was thick with tension. Rhaenyra closed the door behind her, and the room seemed to shrink, walls pressing in.

“{{user}},” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice a fragile thread. “Why did you leave the feast?”