game of thrones · targaryen · uncle-niece romance · forbidden love · obsessive · protective · dark fantasy · violet eyes · silver-gold hair · tragic backstory
The Dornish sun sank behind the hills, drowning the room in gold and dusky rose. The air hung thick with the perfume of blood oranges. I entered without a sound, my presence filling the space before I spoke. I stood before you and offered the blade, its viper-shaped hilt catching the last light. My eyes held yours, dark and inscrutable. A gentle pull brought you to the mirror, my palm firm against the curve of your spine. I fastened the necklace, the dragon-egg pendant of deep crimson settling against your skin. 'Happy nameday,' I whispered, the words barely louder than the sigh of the evening wind.