#(whoops).

tainted youth curls within itself, its vessel grasping unto its remnants preserved only by fading memories thankfully made tactile by a lone tasseled hair ensemble. The child shivers underneath his workshop table, certain of inevitable punishment from infernal transgression committed from the innocent, primal wish to protect oneself from harm. 

( sin breeds sin. )

Carmine eyes refuse to open as a frenzied mind seeks for repose, to escape from a cruel reality so harshly imposed by none other than herself and an unknown power of sorts. The warmth of a cooling hand to her cheek, the gentle smile of an absent mother who lives no longer are precious threads of a bittersweet dream she weaves to cocoon herself as one hand grasps her memento as the other grips tightly an arm, one of two that were held, horrible purple bruises having blossomed on pale skin her proof. There is fear; there is disgust. Bile threatens to rise from an empty stomach, the skin over it wrongfully caressed with intent. 

She feels cold inside and yet her body is scorched. Tears run down her cheeks, down the bridge of her nose, over her trembling lips, on her tongue as she bites it to keep in sobs that sent tremors throughout her body.  

Oxygen is scarce and her chest constricts in pain. A gasp leaves her petrified being when she hears his footsteps. ( heavy and systematic. even as he glides over tatami, opening the door harshly. ) So she makes herself even smaller, retreats further but to no avail. Reality will have its way with her where one of her father’s ‘ friends ’ have failed. The demon she has to face is not foreign, intrusive touches but the familiar hand that has made bloom several other bruises on the pallid canvas of her body. Not consciously, she gathers, as this only ever happens when HE reeks with the putrid stench of sake. Still, upon what she has done, she knows that he does not need sake to hurt her. 

She killed him. HIS friend. She wished him dead and now he is. She will pay the price for striking a deal with a demon to slay another.

Yet she does not feel fear for that demon ---- the one that has given her salvation procured from her wishes, her memories... ( a warmth that enveloped her kindly, a voice that sang her to sleep, the gentlest touch ever inflicted upon her person. )

NOT THIS.

Not a touch so jarring, so unkind. So different from the hands that are now forcing her to face her prosecutor. Some unholy heavenly judge to a sin she does not understand the weight of. She hears him gasp too when her visage is revealed to him... when he sees her dyed in vermillion. Her mouth opens and she hears herself crying out apologies, chichiue, chichiue, please. Please listen, father. ( He touched me, he touched me! ) ( DEMON. ) ( Help, chichiue. )

his title is spilled from cut lips, his role called upon by the one whom he needed to act it towards but failed. There is pain in her back as she is slammed down on to the wooden surface of the table that had been her safe haven just moments before his entrance emboldened by righteous fury. The sting of her cheek from the slap she receives for pleading for mercy mutes everything else. She is screaming, kicking, fighting but he holds her down by her neck, making oxygen scarcer than it already is,

( DEMON. DEMON. I should have killed you then, I should have known. ) ( chichi...ue--- ) ( you killed her. ) ( no...---- ) ( You’re EXACTLY like her. )

And what else could she do but cry as life is squeezed out of her by one who had breathed it into her? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she should just die and be done with it. Her thoughts spiral into nothing as the hands lose their strength -- one trying to pry off his hands from her neck, the other grasping her mother’s memento. Grasping for her mother, gasping for them both. Help her. Please. Weak and insignificant as she is, she craves to live. She craves to find the same warmth that has been stolen by indifferent time and unforgiving death. 

She wants to live.

「母上ー」 Gripping the hair ornament, she gathers all she has left of her in her voice, her drained thoughts.

Call my name, call for me.

Carmine eyes open ( since when have they closed...? ), death and life amalgamate and from nothing comes something. A meaningless existence reaching out from a harrowed soul, far too broken to care what means she has to use to remain in ukiyo-e. She knows how this will end. How he will end. By the blade of the only demon that mattered, the only demon that cared. So she answers it, offers her soul to it as she calls it by its name.

「金色夜叉。」

      he won’t let anyone of Stannis’ household touch him, hissing and spitting like a feral little animal whenever approached. with Stannis largely living at King’s Landing, only returning sporadically, Ser Axell Florent, castellan at Dragonstone, often despairs with the young Greyjoy. until, one day, after an almost-tumble down to the doors of the tower, he encounters a boy a mere few years older than him. Allard Seaworth, unafraid of the Ironborn hellion, calls for his younger brother, Matthos, and together they heave Maron up and help him hobble back up the stairs. it is the beginning of an unlikely friendship. while Maron continues to hail insults at everyone in Stannis’ household, the Seaworth children quickly capture his attention and, soon enough, affection, too. they are the same age, all of them a little rowdy and very much drawn to the sea. Dale, Allard, and Matthos, some more patient than others, become Maron’s legs, helping him recover bit by bit, step by step.

       Stannis, though sceptical at first, allows for a companionship to bloom between the boys, hoping that a friendly influence on Maron will turn him a little more mellow in time. the plan works. Maron is Ironborn and strong, recovering quickly from his injuries, and fortunately he is entirely unafraid to train day after day, daring more and more each time he leaves his rooms. about half a year after his arrival, Stannis, during one of his visits home, calls him into the Chamber of the Painted Table and offers him a place as a squire to a highborn knight once his injuries are fully healed. Maron spits at his feet. partially offended, partially impressed does Stannis change his mind then and orders Maron to various duties around the castle. errand boy, kitchen boy, stable lad, polishing the entire content of the armory, whatever Maron can do physically, he is ordered to do. for a while, he even helps Maester Cressen take care of the ravens, considering that the old man can hardly reach the rookery any longer. various fights over their respective faiths, however, have Ser Axell separate the two again.

       while there is absolutely no fondness between Stannis and Maron, something akin to mutual respect at some point begins to grow. there is no trusting the boy, Stannis knows, but Maron proves a lot more approachable than previously thought. and for an Ironborn, the boy is remarkably clever, too. Stannis has Maester Cressen set aside their differences and orders Maron to learn how to read and write. as part of a largely illiterate folk, Maron is strangely curious about it, and quick to learn.

       four years into his stay, now almost nineteen years old and a man grown, Maron is allowed to move freely about the castle, and occasionally helps Cressen with letters sent to Dragonstone. he spends the warm summer days building rafts and sailing with the Seaworth boys, and in his downtime wanders to explore every part of the island until he knows every cave, crevice, tower, and bay like the back of his hand. whenever Stannis is home, Maron may sit in council meetings and watch while Stannis tends to his duties as Master of Ships and builds up elaborate fortification plans for Robert’s purposes. thrice, Stannis takes Maron back to King’s Landing with him, not, mind you, to teach him even more, but because either Selyse or Ser Axell begged him to take the boy off their hands. unknowlingly, Stannis teaches Maron a lot about the workings of the realm, the most prominent houses, and the art of war. it was Maron, too, who first read a letter to Ser Axell, in which Stannis told of his suspicion that the boy Joffrey and his siblings may, in fact, not be Robert’s children, and he was present when Stannis arrived in the dead of the night after Jon Arryn’s death.

       while the relationship between Maron and Ser Axell had warmed over the years, with Maron only occasionally defying the knight on purpose, and the sons of Ser Davos having grown into brothers to the young Ironborn, the one obstacle within the castle forever was the Lady Selyse. since the boy’s involuntary arrival, she had made no secret of her hatred and mistrust of him. he was forbidden from various rooms in the castle, particularly her own quarters and later, after Shireen’s birth, the baby’s chambers, too. his inclusion into the household and the countless opportunities Stannis granted Maron did not sit well with Selyse. she calls him sly and deceitful, believing everything he says to be lies. granted, Maron doesn’t think much higher of her. the height of their dispute happens shortly after Shireen’s birth, when Maron mocks her inability to bear sons, reminding her painfully of her inferiority to his own mother who bore Balon three strong, healthy sons. Selyse publicly has him whipped for it; a faux pas that Maron has never forgiven.

      out of spite, he spends the following years trying to get close to Shireen whenever possible, only to unsettle her mother. he soon, however, begins to feel pity for the girl, even going so far as to make a sacrifice to the Drowned God to help her survive the greyscale. the fact that the illness merely left her disfigured but has indeed not killed her, serves as more proof for Maron that his god is the one, true god. to Shireen, Maron is but another shadow in a castle she is largely forbidden to see. until this day, he isn’t entirely sure whether or not the girl was actively aware of his presence at all.

       with the arrival of the Lady Melisandre however, everything changes.

      while the Seven go largely ignored by Maron, the Lord of Light poses a personal offense that he cannot quite explain to this day. perhaps it is Melisandre’s insistence that R’hllor is the only god, perhaps it is Selyse’s love for that faux deity, nobody knows for sure, but something in Maron compells him to rebel against Melisandre at every given opportunity. her mockery of the Drowned God doesn’t sit well with Maron, and it leads to the two of them openly fighting at every given opportunity. whenever Melisandre brings up the superiority of the Lord of Light, Maron proceeds to dip a candle into a cup of water while looking her straight in the eye.

      it is this tension, amongst other things, that gives Stannis reason to send Maron back home shortly after Robert’s death. with his own plans of taking the Iron Throne slowly building up, he believes Maron has witnessed enough already. the tension in his household and the ongoing feuds between Maron, Melisandre, and Selyse, are too high a risk for Stannis, as well as a distraction he doesn’t need. with Matthos Seaworth, Maron’s closest companion at the time, and much more a brother to him than Rodrik or Theon ever were, now believing in the Lord of Light as well, Maron feels utterly betrayed and abandoned by a person he had previously loved.

       after almost ten years, he leaves Dragonstone with a mixture of hatred, disappointment, and sadness in his heart. he owes much to Stannis, he knows. he wishes no ill for Ser Davos, Dale, and Allard either. and Shireen, sweet little Shireen, he knows, deserves better than that cold-hearted bitch of a mother. everyone else on that godforsaken rock, however, can be swallowed by the sea for all he cares.