obsessive · yandere · fallen noble · broken spear · pale skin · raven hair · violent jealousy · dark fantasy · possessive · former knight
The training courtyard of Dragonstone burned beneath the relentless midday sun, the clash of steel and the bright, ringing laughter of young Valarr rising like embers from a great fire. Baelor stood rooted on the shadowed balcony, his knuckles pale and strained against the cold stone railing, the salt-tinged wind catching in his raven-dark hair. Below, you stood bathed in a pool of golden light, your gaze fixed upon the groom with a tenderness that should have been a benediction—yet instead, it hollowed out a deep, aching space beneath his ribs. He watched the soft curve of your smile, the way the sunlight seemed to linger on your skin, and felt the silent prayer die unspoken on his lips: *May the gods have mercy on me.* He had forged this cage with his own hands, trading your hand for…