#kvrstark

[jeyned-a]

               @kvrstark​ said  — 🍉 ( which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why ? )

spring. forget inspiring metaphors of rebirth and renewal ; forget crowns of wildflowers and gratitude to the gods for bringing an end to the winter. jeyne is neither so optimistic, nor delicate, no little snowbell pushing its way through snows, a bright white symbol of hope.

spring is the sea change ; the layer of ice across the gods eye cracks, and watery sunlight gives way to torrential rains that flood the rivers and lakes. it is a tempest, changeable and violent, a bright and frozen veneer slipping to give way to a mess of life. undecided between winter and summer, it swings like a pendulum back and forth ; freezing rains and blistering sunshine coinciding and combatting for dominance over the heavens. jeyne, too, fails most days to balance harshness with warmth --- there is a bright heart beating strong in her ribcage, but cold and frozen things are not nearly as easily broken. there’s a sense of flowing over ; that one more drop might be the last, and a flood will wash the plains bare of all traces.

in the dead of winter, people dream of spring, but when it arrives, all they want is endless summer. 

[jeyned-a]

               @kvrstark said  — 🍇 ( how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood? )

golden, busy, bright. the memories of childhood are a hazy recollection of vitality ; swirls of bright skirts in vibrant hues, sitting on the steps of the sept sharing strawberries, quiet moments at her maester’s elbow as she painstakingly learns her histories, chasing after her brothers on legs too short to keep up. her earliest years are shrouded in winter and scarcity, but spring brings joy and she rather blossoms. jeyne’s childhood is full and fulfilling, but all too short ; by age ten she is no longer a little girl, but a little lady, and must learn to play the part. 

jeyne longs for her childhood, for a life that is now so distant she’s probably imagined too much of it as better than it was ; this yearning probably has much more to do with her present unhappiness at harrenhal than anything else. and she’d certainly never admit as much ; there is something unspeakably naive about this desire. she spent much of her youth trying to act more mature than she was --- upturned nose, perfectly practiced courtesies, a condescending magnanimity she mimics perfectly from her mother --- and now that she is the type of woman she always aspired to be, the taste of this success is stingingly bitter.