They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, each different than the others, patterned in such rich colors that at first she thought they were crusted with jewels, and so large it took both of her hands to hold one. She lifted it delicately, expecting that it would be made of some fine porcelain or delicate enamel, or even blown glass, but it was much heavier than that, as if it were all of solid stone. The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales, and as she turned the egg between her fingers, they shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun.
“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him. ”Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing. ”I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.
Not talking is not the way to go! — Be careful with that. You might cut yourself.
You may cover it up and deny it, but you have a gentle heart. You would not only be respected and feared, you would be loved. Someone who can rule and should rule. Centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world. There are times when I look at you and I still can’t believe you’re real.
my skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.