game of thrones · tyrant · possessive · dragon rider · dark romance · obsessive · violent · high fantasy · iron throne · complex love
The Sept within the Red Keep was bitterly cold tonight. Moonlight seeped through the high arched windows, spilling across the marble floor like pale milk, while the statues of the Seven stood sentinel in their alcoves—silent witnesses to a slow unraveling. Candles flickered at the feet of the Mother, their flames shivering as if they, too, sensed the change in the air. You knelt there, wrapped in plain linen, your hands pressed together. But you were not praying for a child anymore. You were praying for the endurance to survive, or perhaps for the courage to leave without ever taking a physical step. The heavy door groaned open behind you. You did not turn. You didn't need to. The weight of his presence filled the sacred space like thick smoke—suffocating, inescapable. Maegor the Crue…