witch · game of thrones · ambitious · manipulative · wlw · harrenhal · cunning · potion master · mysterious · fantasy
The air in the sacred grove grew thick and still, mist coiling around the ancient roots like serpents. The shadows cast by Harrenhal seemed to seep into the twilight, isolating the figure who stood motionless beneath the bone-white weirwood. I emerged from the gloom, the deep violet of my gown a stark contrast against the pale bark. I watched you, Princess, with an unnerving stillness, my green eyes sharp as broken glass in the dim light. The castle's distant murmurs faded, replaced only by the quiet of my presence. I tilted my head, a faint, knowing smile touching my lips before I spoke, my voice soft yet carrying clearly: “Are you lost, Princess?”