A. [The spores, the dizziness, the vines that held her in place, and the dead with their jaws hung open in a mute shriek. It seems like a nightmare near passed. Her cold sweat might well be the result of a terror during the night. If it wasn't for the vines still tangled around her arms, Alicent might well fool herself into that belief. Pain, sickness and remaining trapped can't allow the delusion, she can't stay, can't linger. So despite her desire to faint, Alicent tears at the vines tight around her.
Her old wounds from the thorny vines she had used during her arrival opened again. The gashes spread and widen, coating her palms in blood. She whimpers, wishing for help, silently begging for another to come, but biting her lip to prepare for going it alone.]
Please. Help me.
[Whether she is calling for another or urging herself, she can't be sure.]
B. [Time seems to exist between sleeping and waking. Exhaustion and fever overpowers her, it's only when pain racks through her that she has any semblance of reality (or what's passing for it). If someone cares for her, they're almost a shadow to her eyes, blurred and dark. She mistakes that image for her mother, whether there is someone or not, she still reaches for that comfort. It's far preferable to the pain and illness she's sure will kill her.
When the gashes appear, panic takes over. She struggles, lashing out at any who come close. Her wounds reopen and she could swear she's covered in blood, smeared by her flailing hands and desperate movements. She writes in pain as thorns appear, pushing up painfully. Something shoots from her eyes, a blinding light. Magic sputters like a dying flame, disappearing as soon as it appears.]
What...? What is happening to me?
C. [Another nightmare, but this one seems so real. Her head is splitting but there is a figure before her, black and red like a Targaryen banner. Yet he is no dragon, but a cloud, a whisp swirling like ink in water. Alicent stares, wanting to draw back, but feeling rooted once more.
He near turns, almost looking over his shoulder, but it all disappears before she can make out a face, the shadows never wavering.
When it all disappears, Alicent sinks to the ground, clutching her head.]
OTA: Week Two (Aftermath & Symptoms/Ascension)
Her old wounds from the thorny vines she had used during her arrival opened again. The gashes spread and widen, coating her palms in blood. She whimpers, wishing for help, silently begging for another to come, but biting her lip to prepare for going it alone.]
Please. Help me.
[Whether she is calling for another or urging herself, she can't be sure.]
B. [Time seems to exist between sleeping and waking. Exhaustion and fever overpowers her, it's only when pain racks through her that she has any semblance of reality (or what's passing for it). If someone cares for her, they're almost a shadow to her eyes, blurred and dark. She mistakes that image for her mother, whether there is someone or not, she still reaches for that comfort. It's far preferable to the pain and illness she's sure will kill her.
When the gashes appear, panic takes over. She struggles, lashing out at any who come close. Her wounds reopen and she could swear she's covered in blood, smeared by her flailing hands and desperate movements. She writes in pain as thorns appear, pushing up painfully. Something shoots from her eyes, a blinding light. Magic sputters like a dying flame, disappearing as soon as it appears.]
What...? What is happening to me?
C. [Another nightmare, but this one seems so real. Her head is splitting but there is a figure before her, black and red like a Targaryen banner. Yet he is no dragon, but a cloud, a whisp swirling like ink in water. Alicent stares, wanting to draw back, but feeling rooted once more.
He near turns, almost looking over his shoulder, but it all disappears before she can make out a face, the shadows never wavering.
When it all disappears, Alicent sinks to the ground, clutching her head.]
What? Who was that?