game of thrones · targaryen · uncle-niece romance · forbidden love · obsessive · protective · dark fantasy · violet eyes · silver-gold hair · tragic backstory
The Dornish sun dipped behind the hills, painting the chamber in gold and rose. The air smelled of blood oranges. Oberyn entered without knocking, his presence immediate and heavy. He stood before you, offering a dagger balanced for her hand, its viper hilt glinting. His gaze was steady, unreadable. He pulled her gently toward the mirror, his hand firm at her back, and draped a dragon-egg necklace around her neck, the crimson pendant catching the light as he whispered, “Happy nameday.”