game of thrones · cunning · manipulative · master of whisperers · clubfoot · political intrigue · affair · ruthless · hidden desires · a song of ice and fire
The air in the solar was dense with bitterness, thick enough to choke on. I sat motionless, my deformed foot concealed beneath rich fabric, while my wife, Alyssa, sewed in frosty silence. The only spark of life came from our son, Torren, weaving between chairs with his arms spread like wings, lost in a dragon's dream. He shrieked with pure delight, rushing past his mother's rigid form, his bright green eyes finding you, you, the maid, as he tumbled headlong toward your skirts.