Lord Bolton

[♛] ▐▐ ;;; —— His face was so near to hers that she could                         feel every rancid breath he drew upon  the  blood-and-grime                         streaked skin of her face. Piercing blacks  -  sharp as the stars                         in the night sky - clawed away at him in a  single  hate-filled                         glare. She  l o n g e d  for freedom more than anything;  but                         Ramsay’s gestures of solidarity she did well not to trust.  

Ramsay's grin grew malicious -- a baring of his teeth. He ran his fingers lazily through her hair, separating strands that were dried together with old blood. He gave a sharp tug, a reminder of her place before he released, taking a step back. "I've got grog strong enough to knock you on your arse," He promised.

[♛] ▐▐ ;;; —— Asha’s stomach turned at the brush of his meaty fingers against  her  cheek -                        he was all things vile and terrible - she had half a  mind  to snap  her  teeth                        around the offending digit, yet, his comment of her brother stayed her wrath                        for the moment. Instead, she turned  her  face  away  from  him,  ebon  eyes                        flickering lightly closed.

          Ramsay's lips pulled back into a smile -- strangely sweet, even if it seemed out of place on him. He tipped her face back towards him, an insisted pressure. There was a weight to his gaze -- silent warning for her to behave.

❝ I have been generous up ‘til now; I can be cruel. ❞

Ramsay's fingers twitched on the hilt of his blade. Snow. Always Snow with her, regardless of what Ramsay did to her. She was stubborn, he'd give her that. "I am a generous host, pet." He approached slow, touched a fingertip to her cheekbone, his breath tickling her face, smelling faintly of cloves and too-sweet wine.

[♛] ▐▐ ;;; —— His eyes, as silver as polished steel, watched her so   i n t e n t l y                         that a shiver crept up the Ironborn’s spine. "Battle comes when battle is due,                         creature.” She retorted, rooted in place. Even as he was more  ethereal  and                         undoubtedly more dangerous than many men, Asha would not recoil in fear.                         As he continued speaking, however, her ire flared.

A laugh escaped him. The sound was low and soft, echoed as if it was bouncing around in her head -- the way it first had when his shadow had attached itself to her like a leech. A disease. Nothing but his laugh had echoed at first, as she had buried her axe into the forehead of a man who's notion to kill her.