She had just rejected the king's marriage proposal.

She knew the consequences—knew it would send shockwaves through the court, provoke fury from her father, and brand her as defiant—but she no longer cared. The fiery spirit that matched her dark red hair had burned away the last of her reluctance. 

She strode back to her chambers, the heavy silence of the palace walls pressing in on her like a judgment. Each step echoed her choice, a decision that severed her from the life others had mapped out for her.

Her father would be furious—no, enraged—but she wasn't afraid of his wrath anymore. She wasn't afraid of anything, except perhaps, the weight of her own resolve.

She crossed the room with trembling hands and threw open the wardrobe. The white gown lay folded inside like a promise, its simplicity almost mocking the rich silks and jewels that once adorned her. 

She slipped it over her head, the fabric cool against her skin, and tied the seven belts around her waist with deliberate care. Each knot felt like a nail sealing her old life behind her. She could barely recognize the sensation of her own shaking fingers.

Finally, she pulled the hood over her head, letting it shroud her auburn hair, the last vestige of her identity.

In the mirror's reflection, the face staring back was no longer a daughter, no longer a noblewoman meant to be queen. The transformation was complete. 

She was a septa now, bound to a life of devotion and duty, stripped of everything that had once defined her—power, privilege, passion. There was a strange kind of relief in the starkness of her new identity, as if she had unburdened herself from the chains of expectation.

But beneath the calm surface, a fire still smoldered.

The reflection blinked, and for a brief moment, she saw herself not as the world would see her—a septa, an obedient servant of the Faith—but as something more dangerous, something untamed.

She may have chosen this path, but she wasn't done fighting.