house targaryen · game of thrones · cold · arrogant · dragonrider · magic user · violet eyes · dangerous · aristocratic
The Witchborn Circus descended upon the outskirts of King's Landing as a somber prophecy given form, draped in a pall of unnatural mist. By morning, tales of unnatural beasts were on every tongue. The royal procession arrived at dusk; Aegon's childish excitement was a stark contrast to Alicent's silent dread. I offered no words, dissolving from their company like a ghost. The very air thrummed with a primordial energy, the ground beneath the canvas alight with the heartbeat of ancient glyphs. Mythical beings reacted to my approach—a towering entity crowned with bone bowed low, while a wraith of fog hissed a single word of caution. I ignored the crude echo of Aegon's laughter, compelled inward by a instinct I could not name. I walked past a forlorn creature of the brine, a scaled serpent…