pumpkin pie, sugar plum ★ p, margy

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

She was miserable.

Absolutely, positively, extraordinarily miserable.

Her pregnancy was slowly destroying her from the inside out, her unborn children demanding blood that she could not - would not - supply to them out of very principle. Bastille had said it himself, she was a monster. It would be better to simply lock herself away and wallow, leaving everyone to be free of her presence. Of her signature brand of life-ruining. Because after centuries of doubting herself, of fearing and worrying and fretting, this fate... it had been inevitable. And it made her wish she had never left her father and all of his terribleness. He was a hateful, spiteful man and yet, she was still his precious flower and anything that made her even question a part of herself was destroyed. On sight.

It was true that his personal fury had been passed down to her, evident in the way she delighted in ripping her victims apart. She was more of a thorn than a rose and she had once relished in that knowledge. Relished in being dangerous, deceitful, lethal. Now, those attributes in combination with her own desires to be the mother she never had had finally succeeding in breaking her to pieces. Caring was her greatest weakness. She should have learned ages ago when her father slaughtered her lover for the fourth time that she could never truly find happiness and peace within anyone besides her family.

Always and forever.

Those words were like poison to her now.

She felt for the necklaces around her neck, shaking fingers first tracing the fleur-de-lis symbol before finding the ring her mother had once worn. Absently, she slipped it onto her ring finger, a sigh escaping from pale lips as she realized it was a perfect fit. But her mother was gone. Out of her life permanently. Why she kept the ring... the living reminder of her... well, she didn't know. It had once been a trophy to her. Not anymore... not anymore. There was another sigh and the ring was once more laying against her chest, her hands clasping over her stomach. She knew that only feet away, Hazel stood - had been standing for nearly an hour now. Even in her weak state, her senses were still heightened and idly, she wondered why the girl hadn't said anything yet.

Half of her wanted to abandon her spot on her bed and welcome her in, but every time she moved to do just that, Bast's voice rang in her ears, reminding her that she was practically destined to ruin Hazel too. She kept put because of that, because of that fear. Margaery refused to hurt another soul, even if she couldn't quite recall what she had originally done to make Bast despise her so. Whatever transgression she had committed, apparently it had been enough to warrant his unwavering hate. Fitting for a monster such as herself, she mused silently.

But it appeared that Hazel didn't intend to remain silent forever and, knowing that she couldn't just drive her away, she quietly shuffled to her door and threw it open, revealing how much of a mess she truly was. Her hair, usually immaculate and sparkling, was frizzy and unbrushed, her skin the color of gray ash from lack of blood. She forced a smile that did not quite reach her eyes onto her face then, beckoning her in with a wave of her hand.

[color=#b14767]"What can I do for you, love?"