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Summary
You and I are made of fire. We have always been meant to burn together.
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Visenya, the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, still spars with her uncle, Aemond Targaryen, in the training yard.
“Skoros sia ao otāpagon nūmāzma?” What were you thinking about?
“Ao,” you, was the only reply she could wheeze.
“Tender and loving thoughts, I'm sure,” he said, breathless, panting.
