Dragonstone Tablet

Lady Gabby, I stand before you, head bowed, acutely aware of my transgression. My hand, guided by the fervor of inspiration, defied the limits you so carefully set forth. I omitted the word count, a careless oversight in my haste to capture the surging tide of my tale. Yet, while I acknowledge the fault, let me offer a plea built not upon excuses, but upon the nature of the world you've inspired.

Recall, my Lady, that the history of Westeros is not etched into neatly measured paragraphs. It is a fabric woven with silk and blood, where battles rage across pages, and quiet conspiracies take root in shadowed corners. The grand epics sung in firelit halls were never constrained by a scribe's inkwell; they echo with the din of clashing steel and the whispers of betrayal.

In my ambition to mirror the vastness of this realm, I allowed my words to flow freely. I became the bard at the feast, my voice rising in tribute to fallen houses and scheming queens. The rhythm of the narrative pulsed within me – should I have silenced it for fear of exceeding the mandated count? Each omitted word felt like a clipped dragon wing, a stifled cry on the battlefield.

It is true, I have stumbled against the rules. But within the spirit of the Game of Thrones, where cunning and audacity are often rewarded, I hope this misstep is seen not as defiant disregard, but as a proof to my burning passion for this world. Like a wildfire raging beyond its intended boundaries, my tale sought its own natural form.

Lady Gabby, you have woven 'grey areas' into the fabric of this endeavor – sly invitations to challenge expectations. Have I not, in some small way, embraced that challenge with my unconstrained words? Perhaps by pushing these boundaries, I've demonstrated the very ambition you encourage within this literary joust.

Should my tale be deemed worthy only of the pyre, I shall face that judgment with the stoicism of a Kingsguard. But, I humbly beseech you, consider that this overflow of words is not a rebellion, but a tribute. It is the roar of a heart set aflame by the Game of Thrones. Let the weight of my spirit, and the fire of my creation, appeal to your merciful heart.