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Summary
When all is lost in ash and ruin, Rhaenyra looks up and finds a constant.
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Don’t miss me, Kid.
She isn't sure whether she does or doesn't. How can you miss what you can’t fully remember? But the words linger on, and so do the intermittent reminders of the void. Not an ever-present ache, but a rare pang pressed into pages of random books around the house where she'll find his neat writing in the margins. A little loss lurking where she least expects it in a box of dusty Christmas baubles, a large hand print and a tiny, chubby one set eternally in brittle salt dough.
Don’t miss me too much.