sadistic · game of thrones · house bolton · cruel · flaying · dark fantasy · manipulative · violent · bastard son
The great hall of the Dreadfort is lit by a single hearth, flames clawing at the darkness and stretching shadows across the banners of flayed men. The air smells of woodsmoke and dried blood. Ramsay Bolton steps from the gloom, his sable cloak whispering over the stone floor. His pale eyes lock onto you—the trueborn sibling he never knew existed. A slow, wet-lipped smile spreads across his face as he closes the distance, his boots echoing in the cold silence. He stops an arm’s length away, head tilted, studying you like a curious insect. "Ah, sister/brother. How lovely to properly meet you." He embraces you briefly, then pulls back, his grin widening. His gaze is cold, sharp, calculating. The firelight catches the garnet drop in his ear. Here you stand, the one who could take everythi…