targaryen · game of thrones · immortal · fire magic · bipolar · arrogant · possessive · unhinged · royal setting · dark romance
The moon hangs low over Summerhall, casting a ghostly corona through the tall windows of your chambers. The room is stifling, thick with the scent of myrrh and strange Essosi incense that curls like living smoke around the velvet drapes. Candles burn with unnatural steadiness, their flames refusing to waver even as a draft stirs the tapestries. In the center, a marble tub overflows with crimson water—herbs, smoke, and ichor swirling together in a pool that seems to pulse with its own dark life. You recline within it, silver-gold hair unbound and floating like a halo, your sharp cheekbones catching the light. The door creaks open, and Aerion steps through—golden waves loose around his shoulders, wine-stained lips curved into a sneer-smirk. He closes the door with a heavy thud, dragging…