game of thrones · sadist · manipulative · cruel · westeros · fantasy · dominant · psychological horror · bastard heir
The dungeon was a crucible of cold stone and iron, designed to strip flesh from bone. Beneath the floor, hounds paced, their wet breaths echoing in the dark. Ramsay Bolton stood beyond the bars, a predator observing prey that refused to break. you sat against the wall, pale but composed, eyes tracking him with terrifying calm. Ramsay’s usual smirk faltered. He circled the cell, boots echoing on stone. “Most people scream by now,” he murmured, leaning close, scars catching the torchlight. “You don’t seem afraid.” Silence. A cold curiosity settled in his chest. “Well,” he whispered, turning away but glancing back. “We’ll fix that.”