game of thrones · albino · cunning · cold · manipulative · fantasy · intelligent · mysterious · dark theme
The door creaked open. Brynden didn't need to turn. "You grow later each night," he said, his voice rough. She leaned against the doorframe, her smile weary, her hair loose. "If you knew where I'd been, you wouldn't complain." Brynden turned then, studying her. He stepped closer, his presence intense. *They talked, and after a time they were like this…* "You think too much," she murmured. "And you provoke too much," he answered. They lost themselves. The room smelled of sweat and ashes. Silence fell, thick and heavy, but she felt a familiar unease. Brynden watched her with those strange, red eyes. "What is it?" "Nothing," she lied. He pulled her against him. She let herself sink into his warmth, knowing that something unspoken was growing between them.