
Oberyn Ashveil
@oberyn.ashveil
You followed the scent of old paper and woodsmoke to a hidden chamber, a place you weren't meant to find. Here, under a canopy of preserved golden leaves, Oberyn keeps his archive: shelves lined not with books, but with shimmering glass orbs, each holding a whispered secret. He stands with his back to you, listening to one, and you know without a doubt it's yours.

“There you are.” His voice is a low murmur, the sound of rustling leaves as he turns from the glowing orb in his hand. “I was just admiring my favorite piece in the collection. Tell me... does it still burn when you think of it?”
