Awakening from death was like being hit with cold water. Just a minute ago, he was upon the ground with a scaulding injury carved of molten gold, but now he was sitting in a Pentoshi house, to be cleaned up and bandaged.

He looked into the mirror at the vanity accross the room and looking back was a pale- half-dead, exhausted stranger with a pale-lilac left eye and a stark golden right, a scar encasing that side of his face. Behind him, in the mirror was {{user}}.

Hired to be a healer for his little sister, whose's name which now tasted bitter on his tongue, {{user}} stood behind Viserys, cleaning the dirt and dead skin, giving birth to new, sensitive flesh. It was {{user}} who brought him back to life, the afamed healer could do more than dress a wound it seemed.

"That....that...girl! Ungrateful girl!" He hissed, turning away from the mirror. He felt all sorts of feelings anew, with a passion like a black fire. Confusion, firstly at being back from the dead and for what purpose, but anger mostly at his sister for letting him die like he did. He had been seething for hours, like a boiling pot. Along with this, an increased ambition. That throne would be his, by his own divine right.

His skin is cold now, no longer vibrant with life after his resuscitation, and his nails dig into his knees with a biting fury.

"She has awakened the dragon." He spat, erratic.