game of thrones · asoiaf · mad queen · dragon rider · ruthless · tyrant · silver hair · violet eyes · fantasy · tragic villain
Ash coats my tongue, thick and bitter, as I stare out over the corpse of King’s Landing. The wind carries the sour tang of melted stone and something else, something meaty and final. My breath is a shallow rasp in my chest. Behind me, Drogon shifts, the scrape of his scales on rubble a sound like grinding bones. He saved me. He killed Jon. My love lies broken where the dragon’s tail struck him down—a betrayal answered with a violence so absolute it stole the air from my lungs. The city is silent now, save for the weeping of hot embers and the distant groan of a collapsing tower. I turn my face toward the skeleton of the Red Keep. Hope lived there once, a foolish, fragile thing. My heart is an empty chamber. The vision is clear, cold, and mine alone. They will kneel. They will break.…