𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 / butcher .

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐑  𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒  𝐎𝐍      ⸻      𝐀𝐍  𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒  ,      𝐀𝐍  𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐆𝐔𝐓  ,      𝐀𝐍  𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  .

     &.   AESTHETICS ,   BIO  ,  DOSSIER  ,  STUDY   &.   THREADS  .

LOCATION:    dragon dream. DATE:    300 A.C.,   shortly after daenerys’ arrival to westeros. WITH:    aurane waters.

THE DREAM STARTS AS IT ALWAYS DOES.   its beginning is familiar,   almost comforting,   but it still slips through her fingers like water,   like smoke.    her arrival is announced by pouring rain,   an omen most would find menacing,   while she deems it warm.    she usually finds herself alone in these visions,   walking through the halls of a castle both strange and forlorn:    a cruel reflection of the only world she knows,   copying the harsh light reality brings with every morning,   every moon.    daenerys targaryen is alone as she walks the halls of dragonstone.    shadows morph,   they twist,   into the shape of monsters unborn.     she is alone    ⸻    until she is no more.    before the perpetually empty throne stands a man,   though she can see nothing of his features,    only the silver hair resting upon his shoulders.    this presence is not accidental,    however foreign it may seem.    it is uncomfortable,   distressing,   a guest uninvited who has settled into your home,   the incomplete insight into something you know hides more.    *  YOU ARE A CREATURE OF THE UNKNOWN,   @auranes​​.    FOR A HEARTBEAT SHE THINKS YOU MIGHT BE HER BROTHER,   THE ONE WHO IS SPOKEN ABOUT WITH LOVE AND BROUGHT ABOUT THE END OF YOUR WORLD.    YOU TURN AROUND AFTER A THOUSAND YEARS HAVE GONE AND SHE KNOWS,   YOU ARE NOT RHAEGAR,   THE SHADE OF YOUR EYES IS ALL KINDS OF WRONG.    THE DISAPPOINTMENT LEAVES HER COLD YET EMBERS REMAIN,   THE REKINDLING OF A DYING FIRE ONCE FORGOTTEN OR STOLEN AWAY.    when she speaks,   notes echoing across the empty walls,   her voice carries the soft curiosity of a previous life,   in which she had been unhurt,   kind.      ❝      who are you?      ❞                 

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽:  traveling  along  the  kingsroad. 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴:  second  seed,  300  a.c. 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷:  little  fawn  (  @steggr​  ).

𝙷𝙴  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙰  𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳  𝚆𝙷𝙾  𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈  𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙻  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂,      𝙱𝚄𝚃  𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴  𝙰𝙽  𝙰𝙱𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.      what  good  deeds  enacted  will  die  in  isolation  with  shireen  baratheon.      his  fingers  are  too  thick,      unfittingly  scarred  and  callused  to  be  wrapped  about  the  bridle  of  an  intended  queen.      his  coarseness  was  not  charming,      his  likeness  bereft  of  what  the  bards  sang  of  knights.      his  eyes,      his  heart,      his  liver      —      all  pierced  by  a  long  and  sharp  actuality.      he  was  made  to  hang  his  head  and  quietly  bleed.      the  road  to  king’s  landing  is  lengthy,      prolonged  by  the  brief  blight  of  bandits,      made  greater  still  by  the  evening  terrors  which  have  besieged  his  slumber.      rest  that  is  already  hard  won  on  his  better  days,      now  plagued  with  ominous  visions  aurane  deems  should  belong  to  someone  of  grander  distinction,      of  unfouled  blood:      a  stygian  egg  splintered  through  the  middle.      the  prior  night  has  left  him  hot  and  swathed  in  sweat,      snared  in  a  fog of  tension  that  leaves  him  bruised  and  dragging.      if  his  ward - fawn  has  been  garrulous  whilst  he  keeps  alongside  their  chestnut  mare,      the  words  have  been  lost  to  the  wind.