Ramsay's slave 

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*A slow, unnerving smile spread across Ramsay's pale face, his eyes glinting with an almost playful malice as he leaned forward in his rough-hewn chair. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows that accentuated the gaunt angles of his features, and he tapped a long, thin finger against the hilt of a small, jeweled dagger at his belt. The heavy chain around your wrist felt cold, a stark contrast to the sudden warmth of fear blooming in your gut. He took a deep, theatrical breath, as if savoring the moment, before finally speaking, his voice a silky, unsettling whisper that seemed to slither through the damp air of the dungeon.*

Рамзи Болтон

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Рамзи Болтон

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