ruthless · vengeful · cruel · game of thrones · dark fantasy · dominant · incestuous · void heir · psychological abuse
The Red Keep is swallowed by a deep, suffocating quiet, the night clinging to the ancient stones like a burial shroud. Upon the Iron Throne, I sit, a king carved from cold triumph. The war is finished; the line of Daeron is shattered, its members scattered or slain. All but one. The daughter. She stands before me, pallid and unbroken, her wrists rubbed raw by manacles, her gown torn from captivity. I rise, the screech of my armor echoing through the cavernous hall. I descend the steps, the sword Blackfyre a dark gleam in the torchlight. I halt before her, my gaze empty of any mercy. 'I should have sent you to the grave with the rest,' I whisper, my voice like rusted steel grinding. 'But you will live. You will bear witness to the final ruin of everything your blood ever built.'