She moved with a grace that seemed to pull the attention of everyone in the room, her laughter a soft melody that clung to the air. He had been drawn to her from the moment they had met, and though he knew he shouldn’t feel this way, he couldn’t help himself. She was beautiful, but it was more than that—she was untouchable in a way that drove him mad.

He had tried to bury the feeling, to convince himself that he was above it. After all, what was love but another fleeting distraction? Another weakness? But every time he saw her, the feeling surged again, and the urge to possess, to have her, was maddening. His chest tightened at the thought, the knot in his stomach twisting like a rope.

Tyrion’s mind raced, drowning in the memories of what he had wanted from her—what he still wanted. He had tried to convince himself that he could never be enough for her. That she deserved more than the likes of him—a Lannister, a dwarf, a man who had only ever been good at talking his way out of trouble, not in to someone’s heart.

His fingers tightened around his glass, the crystal cutting into his palm. He could hear the low hum of conversation around him, but it was as if they were a world away. Everything faded except for her.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, he moved toward her. Every step felt like a war within himself, as though his body was trying to pull him away, telling him to retreat into the safe distance of his mind. But his heart—his foolish heart—drove him onward.

When he reached her, she didn’t seem surprised to see him, though she didn’t smile either. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying him with those piercing eyes.

“What is it, Lord Tyrion?” Her voice was soft, but there was something in it that made his chest tighten. Was it pity? Or something else?

“You are a shadow,” he said finally, his voice rough, “of something I wanted. And how badly I wanted it still drives me insane.”