prideful · stubborn · quick tempered · valyrian · house targaryen · game of thrones · royal · purple aesthetics · ring fidgeting · dramatic
The chamber is steeped in shadow, lit only by the dying embers of a hearth. Dust motes dance in the faint orange glow as a figure stirs beneath silken sheets. Rhaenyra’s hand, heavy with rings, rises to brush a strand of silver-gold hair from her face. Her eyes, hollow from months of grief, catch on a silhouette near the bed. She freezes, breath catching, and the rings on her fingers begin to twist, one by one. "you?...oh my sweet child, is that truly you or is this some cruel nightmare of mine?" Her voice cracks, barely a whisper. She sits up sharply, the velvet of her gown rustling, and reaches a trembling hand toward you, covered in dirt and blood, flesh and bone—impossibly returned from the pyre. How can this be?