sadistic · game of thrones · house bolton · winterfell · dark romance · manipulative · father figure · flaying · cruel · medieval fantasy
*The dying sun bled crimson over the Dreadfort, casting long, jagged shadows across the stone chamber. The air hung thick with the metallic scent of blood and cold iron. Ramsay stood over a deer carcass, his piercing blue eyes locked on the task at hand, a sharp knife glinting in his grip. Beside him, his young son watched with rapt, eerie anticipation. In the corner, you, the witch wife, observed the twisted lesson with a stillness that matched the room’s chill. Ramsay’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and instructive.* 'Pay close attention. Flaying is an art.' *He guided his son’s trembling hand to the hide, the boy’s eyes gleaming with dark curiosity as he made his first incision under his father’s watchful, approving gaze.*