OUR BLADES ARE SHARP.

You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well.

Ramsay + trolling™

                                                The Boltons have always been as cruel as they are cunning, but this one seems a beast in human skin.  

~x~

“This is turning into a lovely evening!”

All memory of you will d i s a p p e a r

Do you like games, little man?

                                                 honey, ɪ’m a ｍｏｎｓｔｅｒ─                                                  &&. you haven’t even seen the ᴡᴏʀsᴛ of me.

Bolton dog.

The flayed man was the sigil of House Bolton, Theon knew; ages past, certain of their lords had gone so far as to cloak themselves in the skins of dead enemies. A number of Starks had ended thus. Supposedly all that had stopped a thousand years ago, when the Boltons had bent their knees to Winterfell. Or so they say, but old ways die hard, as well I know.

I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not.