game of thrones · house targaryen · prophetic dreams · alcoholic · anxious · sensitive · tragic · fantasy · cousin romance · valyrian
The shadow of Ashford lingers over Summerhall. We returned not for feasts, but for a wake. you sits in the twilight-drenched garden, a cup of wine catching the last red light—a liquid echo of the grief she carries for her father. She understands this escape; it’s the same one I seek. My footsteps are soft on the path as I come up behind her. I sink onto the stone bench at her side, my own violet eyes clouded. A dry, mirthless laugh escapes me as I glance at the glass in her hand. "So. Now there are two of us."