03/18/2024 07:11 PM  the dreaming city [ part one ]   A few months had passed since the young wolf of Winterfell arrived in the sparkling kingdom of Melniboné. She had seen the great sights and meadows, spent countless hours with the Emperor, monopolizing all of his time to the point it felt like a sin, and she had loved every moment of it, though, like a greedy child, she longed for more. She longed to see the seedy underbelly of the majestic city that Elric was too embarrassed to show her. A place where the skills she had acquired during her childhood could actually be put to use, where she could prove herself amongst the people of such a vast empire to belong somewhere. It was a feeling she’d never really known before. And although she felt the pull of such a force every time she and the emperor hid themselves away from the rest of the world, she longed for others to see something worthwhile in her as well. Perhaps then she could stay. It was a thought that had long plagued the corners of her mind for some time. Though perhaps today was the day, it was still rather bright out, as the sun had only recently entered the midday sky and the emperor was set to appear before visiting dignitaries, so she wasn’t likely to see much of him. In truth, it seemed almost perfect. All she needed was an escort who knew the city like the back of his hand. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find Dyvim at this time of day?" She questioned, her bright blue eyes looking up from the dressing table at the lady's maid Elric had provided to her. "If he is not with the Emperor receiving in the great hall, he will likely be in the gardens." She responded quickly with a look of confusion. "Right then. Thank you." Sara added abruptly, standing to her feet, her hands smoothing out the cotton fabric of her dress, which was rather dull and lackluster, much like the dress she'd arrived in. "Are you quite sure about this dress, mistress?" Leaving the lips of her attendant, who had been dressing the young envoy in clothing far more suitable for the station of a great house, "someone might mistake you," she added, though she dared not finish the thought that had come to mind. "I am," Sara insisted, a soft smile coming to her lips as she spoke the unsaid words in her head: "for a servant." It was a response she'd hoped for, in truth. To be inconspicuous, it was also a part Dyvim would have to play, though she was sure he'd protest at first. Upon thanking Luthien for her assistance, she dismissed her services for the remainder of the day and headed out into the passageways, her footsteps soft against the tiles as she strolled elegantly in search of the dragon knight. As Luthien had predicted, she found him just beyond the doors of the shimmering palace in the lush gardens, willed with an array of colors. "Afternoon, Lady Sara,” she heard upon catching his gaze. “Good afternoon,” she responded, waltzing slowly up to him, her bottom lip tucked gently beneath her teeth as she contemplated how best to approach the topic, though she wasn’t sure as to why, considering he was the one who’d made the original offer. She couldn’t think of one at that moment, instead resigning herself to the quiet like a fish out of water, which he’d taken notice of. “I can see you are all out of sorts today without my cousin." He spoke, his tone rather formal, though his lips held a playful smile in place. “I am rather surprised to see you are not with his majesty today.” Sara replied, her deep sapphire hues peering up at him. Like Elric, he was taller than she, though not nearly by as much as the top of her head came up to his nose. He made no attempt to respond verbally, instead opting for a nonchalant shrug. Was he not welcomed, perhaps? A thought that quickly brought about a zillion other questions, though she'd forgo them all for the time being in favor of garnering Dyvim's cooperation. "Perhaps you might be willing to help provide a distraction," she commented. "Sure thing," he responded. "What did you have in mind?" He added. "I thought perhaps you could show me the dreaming city." The visiting she-wolf spoke, referencing the offer he had made so early on in their time together. "Umm." He began, his voice seemingly cut off as he contemplated all of the things that could go wrong. "Please," Sara interjected, her soft, doe-eyed expression piercing his stone exterior. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed, before realizing how she'd dressed. "Stay close," he ordered, his words delicately placed as they entered the stretch of dreaming den frequented by most of the nobility, including himself, although they weren’t the ones she’d been most interested in. No, she wanted to see the damp, flea-infested areas of the city where many of the palace servants and merchants lived—the place that had reminded her most of Flea Bottom back home. The place her brother and the emperor would not approve of. It was a command from him; she didn’t dare vocalize, knowing he too would disapprove. Instead, she continued along the passageway that would lead her further into the city of dreaming souls, where once-wide streets narrowed and buildings neatly spread apart now staggered together in one giant mass. "This isn't staying close," he scolded, rushing to catch up with Sara, who in that moment seemed as though she'd been on a mission only she was privy to. "Would you have taken me down here had I asked?" She spoke, stopping in her tracks, his silence in that moment speaking more than his words might have. "You all treat me like I'm some fragile object." She spoke. And while she wasn't entirely bothered by it—especially when it had come from the emperor—it kept her from being able to fulfill her promise to him: How was she to help him if she didn't see the parts of Melniboné that needed it the most? It was a sentiment he seemed to understand as he continued along beside her. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as they ventured further into the slums. In doing so, it was clear to see why the lower-class citizens of a kingdom so vast in knowledge and technology would crumble to the temptations of opioids to dull their senses to all their troubles. It tugged at her conscience and filled her with a feeling of disgust. It made her appreciative, if only slightly, of her home, which had never been the most heartwarming, to know those born without nobility could live without having to numb themselves in order to survive. How could they, the nobility of this spectacular city, turn such a blind eye? She really couldn't fathom it as they passed a few drunk and homeless Melnibonéans asleep in their own filth. The smells of sweat and urine mixed with the sweetness of the drug, which had caused wonderfully lucid dreams broken by a sound she was all too familiar with. Cries? She thought to herself. Faint like that of a child, her eyes scanned the dull scenery in search of them. 0 Comments

03/17/2023 11:41 PM  the death of innocence She gazed upon his face, the reaper of death and destruction that came with his sinister grin. She was sure that he had come to claim yet another victim. Stripped bare by the man many referred to as the king of the free folk beyond the wall. As their first encounter began to enter her thoughts. The tent with its little light seemed to make the mountainous frame that threatened to swallow her whole less intimidating, the feel of her chin pinched between his rough fingers as he admired his newly caught prize. She'd seen the impure thoughts in his mind, though they paled in comparison to the chilling words that fell: "I will break you." He spoke sadistically, sending waves of fear through her frame, though her eyes appeared calm and defiant. He took pleasure in it, as if she were a wild mare, though he looked at her with eyes of familiarity as he aggressively pushed her onto her back. His muscular frame quickly blocked out the light as she felt each breath become more of a struggle. Her slender frame was pinned beneath him as her feeble hands attempted to push him away, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin as she dug them into his flesh. Squirming beneath him in an attempt to escape the inevitable. She felt her gaze move away from his as he penetrated her once-virgin womb with one hard thrust of his pelvis. He tore into her tears, staining her cheeks as she felt the slow drips of blood slide down her thigh, stripping her of the innocence she once possessed. On her neck, a rash formed from his beard as it scraped against her, his mead-filled breath lingering in her nose. The damp floor beneath her back was beginning to muddy her hair, and though she did her best to hide the sound of her whimpering, he noticed. He took pleasure in it as the sound that shattered her spirit filled his ears, fueling his disgraceful actions. "Cry all you want, little wolf, no one is coming to save you," he said with spiteful arrogance, making her tremble under his touch. He spoke as if he knew her, but how could that be? She could have never known a man so cruel and unfeeling, and yet the way he called her little wolf made her think otherwise as he turned her over, pushing her face into the dirt forcefully. Beyond the tent of her misery, the sound of murmurs and shuffling feet from free folk that roamed the encampment filled her ears, and though she hoped someone would take pity and come to her aid, none did. In fact, he continued to taunt the young wolf even after he'd released himself, as the light in her eyes faded into the abyss. Calling in a few other men to have their fill of the wolf before sending her back to her brother beyond the wall. As she found herself face-down in the dirt, her body began shaking under the grasp of two other men who'd since taken on her abuse. She found her mind wondering about the night her father passed. "Wolves are survivors, my sweet girl, and you are a wolf, no matter what anyone else tells you." It played on a loop, reminding her of the Stark blood she possessed. She was a wolf, a survivor, and she was unyielding.  With her eyes shut, her mind took refuge in a white-wolf beyond the tent, allowing her to escape momentarily. She'd become the wolf, a warg, and though she vaguely remembered the event, she returned to find her abusers dead on the ground, ripped and torn apart. Her body was naked, covered in the blood of her enemy, legs trembling as she pulled herself from the ground, stumbling out of the tent as screams of agony filled the air. 0 Comments

03/12/2023 05:57 PM  the face of death Beyond the wall of Winterfell was a world unknown. Where free folk, or Wildlings, lived free from the cultural norms of Westerosi politics, along side creatures of pure darkness whose very existence teetered on the edge of life and death itself. It was a place where no sane man, woman, or child dared venture, and yet it's exactly where Sara and Lady Isabella had found themselves. The last memory in her mind was of a cloth coated in the familiar scent of white poppy that was placed across her mouth and nose and rendered the winter wolf unconscious. It was a smell. Sara was accustomed to it as her caretakers often used it to terrorize the little girl they viewed with such disdain. As she woke to the unfamiliar surroundings, she scanned the dimly lit tent. Her sapphire hues made notes of the silhouettes around the room, each in a similar state. Beside her, Lady Isabella sat with her arms around her legs and her knees pulled into her chest as if to calm the nerves in her body that threatened to shake her very core. As the once dark space brightened with the opening of the tent flap momentarily. The sound of metal clanking from the hilt of a sword filled the air as the silhouette of an ominous figure made its way towards them. In his hand he carried a torch; his broad, mountainous frame was illuminated by what little light there was. On his face was the look of death, and while she hadn't trembled before its shadowy gaze since she was a little girl, she knew many others who had. Her sapphire eyes fixed on the man, who had since forced their gaze as he fell to his knees in front of her, the impurities in his thoughts painting his features. His fingertips held her chin firmly between them, tilting her head slowly as if to admire his new prize. Her gaze shifting towards the tent opening once more as a slow stream of light slipped in once more. Who had entered, she wondered? Her eyes seemed to follow the man. The piercing scream of a mother's greatest horror as he ripped the child she held from her warm and loving arms that cut like a sword in the heat of battle filled the air that once felt still. It paralyzed her with fear and put a new question in her mind. "Where are they going with him?" She whispered while watching the man remove the infant from sight. "Where he's going is no concern to you." The man spoke harshly, her eyes widening as she suddenly realized the question she'd thought had been asked in her head was met with a response. What was going to become of them, she wondered? Her gaze darted towards her cousin, the Lady Karstark, whose life was worth far more than hers if ransom were the goal. Placing her hand gently on Isabella's knee in reassurance, she spoke. "We're going to survive this, right?" As if she needed to somehow make sure she'd known they would not go quietly. 0 Comments

03/17/2022 02:22 PM  One Day. "One day, I'll be fierce. One day, I'll be brave. One day, I'll be the wolf. And on that day, they will fear what they've created." She whispered, her sapphire orbs fixed firmly on the tattered stuffed animal who'd been her only true companion for quite some time. Her father was still alive and well, but her mother had been buried beneath a willow in a field north of the Godswood because she was a woman of low birth whom her lord-father had been infatuated by for a brief moment. In fact, if it hadn't been for her brother Cregan, the legitamete of their father's loins, she might not have seen a single soul pass through her chamber, as the nursemaids in charge of her care and well-being were often neglectful, cruel, and unfeeling, which she couldn't understand as a child. What had she done to deserve such ill treatment? It couldn't be simply because she existed as a baster in a noble home, could it? She wondered, looking at the redness of her skin—a result of a bath drawn with scolding water she'd been forced to take. Her brother and father had been unaware of Sara's poor care, mainly because she feared what speaking up might do. Her hand pulled out the ties that held her braids in place, as they, too, were a sad reminder of the abuse she had suffered, and she winced slightly at the thought of her nurse ripping the brush through her hair. Her room was cold—likely the coldest in Winterfell, which houses those with noble blood, another indication of the lowly status she held in her father's house. Moving closer, she took hold of the book her brother had left behind during his previous visit. She had a hard time recalling it though, as it had been a while, but that was to be expected given the responsibilities he held as their father's successor. She flipped through the pages that held illustrations of princes who slew horrible giants and rescued beautiful damsels, longing to know that feeling one day. 0 Comments

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