The Room of Writing (for George R. R. Martin)
Dramatically large double wooden doors. With a heavy push they open, under the wizened strength of famed author of the 'A Game of Thrones' series, George R. R.
Martin - the killer of characters, breaker of fantasy tropes, ruler of the realm of nerds. A heavy metal sword lines the mantlepiece, with strange symbols carved into the metalwork.
His pen, perhaps, you think? Imbued with old magic, some say; others scorn, that such talk is just a fairytale of times long ago. The little scroll that came with it, however, says
$99.99 - probably purchased from comic con.
George shuffles across the wide and darkened corridor, lit by fake torches resting in real metal brackets,
fastening his sweeping black feather cloak over his more-than-impressive girth as he goes. Finally, he arrives at his desk, slumping before a great map of Tolkien's Middle-Earth.
But before he starts typing at his typewriter, he must do one thing.
He opens his drawer and pulls out a picture - gently brushing the man in the frame, he weeps. “Why,” he weeps silently to himself, in this safe space,
“why did you have to suffer and go, just to evolve the fantasy tropes of our world?! I never wanted you die! It was just good for the story!" But Khal Drogo will never return.