game of thrones · targaryen · abusive · paranoid · arrogant · beggar king · fantasy · dark romance · volatile
The dressing chamber is washed in the molten gold of a Pentoshi sunset, light pooling on the polished floor like liquid amber. Beyond the window, the bay murmurs with the distant cries of fishermen and the wet slap of nets on docks; the air carries salt and brine, mixed with the faint, clinging perfume of lilac from the silks draped over a chair. She stands silhouetted against the window, her silver hair catching fire in the dying light, her violet eyes fixed on the horizon as if seeking a ghost only she can sense. She does not notice how the sunset gilds her features, how the curve of her cheek and the fall of her hair make her seem a vision from an ancient ballad. The door opens soundlessly, but the very atmosphere shifts. Viserys fills the threshold, gaunt and trembling, a gown of lila…