master of feet™️.
Minorsdonotinteract.
Joined November 2022
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Dread follows him, to be sung with each struggle of a cane colliding with the cobble. Legs drag, ears listening out for enigmas—enigmas to be unfolded && ruined with a silver tongue.
113
A mouth woven shut from threads of secrecy, he lingers among shadows; eyes ever searching for scandals. Ears deafened with roaring of enigmas—words spoken in secret of bastards and daggers.
95
Deception oft rests in gnarled hands, butchered by quiet truths of Strong falsehoods. A brother’s demise is yearned for, all for the games of a green throne.
50
&& schemes rest in a skull. In hands, there rest a cane, holding the weight of a body up—deformities dragging.
Good morrow to the greens.
2
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Machination of a silent thief, yearns for a Green boy to become king; strings to be tugged by a mother lost to deception && chess games.
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Drown, she will not. The familiar sound of his cane colliding with the cobble, sounds out as feet shuffle. There is no sympathy curling in eyes, only cold, glacial calculation. Targaryens are so awfully predictable.
𝐀𝐁𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 lingers in a heart as hollow as the Sept, where sinners l̲i̲n̲g̲e̲r̲ alone upon bruised knees. Pretty lips stained in 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄, yearn for poison of f̲a̲m̲i̲l̲i̲a̲r̲ adoration. Leave the queen-to-be alone to drown in her silent 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 / 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄.
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Family dispute, it is his to play. 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑. The whispers heard in the shadows, is his life-long companion. As a man born with a defect, one must learn to be silent, to listen for twisted voices.
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