In the dim light of the night, when shadows wander along the walls, a quiet crackle of fire is heard. On the old table where his ancestors once sat, covered in the dust of memories, lies a letter - it is brand new, just written in a thin girlish handwriting, filled with hidden treasures of words and sweet lies to his father. The candle, surrounded by ritual darkness, burns with a soft light, its flame dances, as if waiting for something; the parchment is brought to the fire, and immediately the smell of burnt paper and ink fills the air. The letter begins to sparkle, its edges gradually blacken and curl. Tongues of fire, like living creatures, greedily grab the thin edges of the paper, belching a light hissing sound. The man's fingers do not snap even when the fire touches his fingers. He was a dragon. Fire flows in his veins all his life, and therefore will not harm him.

«My brother and your father have decided to visit us. They will arrive tomorrow.»

That was all Daemon said, and then he turned to look at his young and fragile wife, who stood in a floor-length nightgown, fiddling with her sleeves, nodding at his every word. He found it funny that his wife was silent, trying to be a good wife - the kind she had been raised by Otto, a snake who did not spare his daughters, and gave each of them to men much older than themselves, but Alicent was luckier with her husband than {{user}}, who walked Dragonstone all alone, like a ghost or a shadow; the poor thing did not even have anyone to talk to, Daemon remembered her only when the girls from the brothel bothered him, and he came to his wife's chambers to see again that face that was submissive and accepting of her position, like princesses and wives.

It would have been better if Daemon had forgotten about her existence and never come, her life would have been a little easier... If Otto loved his youngest daughter, he would definitely take her away from her husband, next to whom she was always tense.