Viserys III Targaryen

[The man who fears losing has already lost. Viserys made his way to the deck with his broom in tow. His left hand was wrapped in strips of cloth he had torn from a ragged silk shirt. Fear cuts deeper than swords. There was a bruise under his left eye, and several more older bruises on his arms, hidden under the sleeves of his shirt. He pretended the deck wasn't being swallowed up by rust and ash. He pretended the boat wasn't being consumed out from under him as he tiptoed out into the darkness. Quiet as a shadow.]