No matter how she struggles, the vice-like grip does not alleviate. Past her ankles, the sand rises. Her knees. Her hips. When it rises to her chest, she scrabbles for a way to crawl out, but the grip never lessens, and the last thing she sees are lifeless eyes of the mask before the sand swallows her alive.

She expects this to be the end of her... even holds her breath as sand brushes against any parts of her exposed. Yet before her lungs can even scream for breath, she lands--on her feet? In a new space, surrounded by light. It's a stark contrast to where she'd just been, and whilst the fire would be a comfort for her, it fills her with a sense of foreboding.

Dany's just in the process of dusting the sensation of sand from her braids when a voice seems to echo all around her. My children? She spins in place, eyes widened, heart kicking into a gallop in her chest. She does not recognize the man, save for the telltale Targaryen features. But--but he cannot be real.

"You're not real," she flatly says. Once, once she'd dreamed of meeting her family. If this is truly the Mad King, however... She shouts to the ceiling: "Do you think I fear this? You're just as cowardly as the wizard I burned who played the same tricks!"