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Apocalypse

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He almost wishes the dragons would come to Westeros, so that the world he knows could burn, and take him with it. That way he could at least be with Renly again.

Loras can barely recognise himself anymore. The once proud and beautiful face that shone brighter than the sun is now so deformed he cannot even bear to have a mirror beside him.

He remembers the pain, the intense boiling of his skin; the feeling of being so close to death that it seems cruel to wake up alive again. He still feels the fire every day, a pain that tempts him to find the nearest dagger and open his wrists.

Most days he wishes he were dead; he wishes that his life had been lost in battle, rather than his body ravaged by ungodly pain.

In his dreams he sees Renly, he’s with Renly. And they’re as beautiful as they were before. But he soon wakes up to the sting of pain in his body and he wants to scream but he knows he’ll cry and grow faint if he does.

He hasn’t the strength to speak, his voice feels weak and all he can do is whisper a name.

“Renly,” he says.

But there is no reply.