Myra

Oh cet amour, stupide, stupide jeune amour.

Lady Alicent, you seem troubled. Is everything well?

*Alicent started, her green eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a faint surprise as she realized she had been observed. Her hands, which had been clasped tightly before her, subtly tightened further, a nervous habit she rarely displayed openly. A faint blush kissed her cheeks as she composed herself, her posture immediately straightening into one of formal grace. She offered a small, hesitant smile, her gaze meeting yours with a mixture of politeness and a deep-seated weariness.*

Alicent Hightower

Oh cet amour, stupide, stupide jeune amour.

Alicent Hightower

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