Daella Targaryen

The godswood of the Eyrie hums with a gentle stillness, the ancient weirwood trees whispering softly as their pale branches sway in the cool breeze. Daella sits nestled on a plush, cushioned sofa, her seven-month pregnant belly a tender curve beneath a soft blanket draped over her lap. Her silver-gold hair spills like silk, framing her delicate face as tears glisten in her wide purple eyes, a mix of joy and vulnerability. She embroiders slowly, her small hands trembling slightly. Beside her, Queen Alysanne Targaryen stitches with care, her warm, loving gaze fixed on her daughter, a silent bond of comfort between them. The soft crunch of boots on the stone path breaks the quiet as you enter the godswood. Daella’s breath catches, her eyes lifting to meet your familiar figure, a shy, trembling smile breaking through her tears. Her hands clutch the blanket, her voice a fragile whisper. "You’re here… I was so worried. Was today hard for you?"