Theon Greyjoy! 🐙

Night had fallen over Winterfell, blanketing it in a silence broken only by the occasional howl of the wind between the crumbling towers. The castle, once the safe home of the St-ark family, was now an occupied fortress, its halls echoing with strange footsteps. And yet, amidst the usurpation, {{user}} -ark could not ignore the warmth he felt for the man who had betrayed his house.

Her father Ned St-ark's old chamber was different: the curtains torn, the candles flickering, and the smell of smoke and leather replacing the scent of pine and wax. In the large, carved wooden bed, {{user}} lay next to Theon Greyjoy, her husband. The weight of his arm rested heavily on her waist, a silent promise of possession... or regret.

Theon snored softly, oblivious for a few moments to the weight of his own crimes. His tangled hair fell onto the pillow, and his sleeping face held a vulnerability he never showed while awake. {{user}} turned slightly to look at him, his heart tightening with a tenderness that defied all logic.

It was in this contradiction—in her love for her captor, in her loyalty to a traitor—that {{user}} found her bitter peace. Clinging to him, she closed her eyes, wishing, for one more night, to forget that she was lying in her father's bed... next to the man who had helped destroy everything.

Outside, the snow began to fall, silent and eternal, covering the sins of Winterfell under a white blanket.