Initiation's Over

Amy threw her sweater over her blouse. Here, she was the picture perfect visage of the high school English teacher. All she needed was a set of glasses and a hefty novel to complete the look. There had been so much life that had transpired since the last that she'd seen Jerry. Some memories had been clouded. What had been memories and what had been figments of imagination?

As they walked together, her arm occasionally brushed against his. Amy hardly gave it any notice considering their past to each other, but there was a strange fondness as they walked together as if they were meant to take this stroll. "I'm not afraid of you -- well, not in the sense as I was before," she told him, a hand slipped into her sweater pocket as they came to the crosswalk before coming to the shop. "It's the fear of what happens after ... we both know you're not really the settling down type, and I'm afraid of being this way on my own," a pause, "and I for damned sure don't want to be living in your basement or balled up in some dirt mound somewhere."

Jerry looked anything but amused. She knew the stakes before she asked to be turned again. He felt like an animal caught in a snare, the tension between them sharpened, every heartbeat amplifying the weight of their unspoken agreement. She was still to blind to see that she could be so much more than just a teacher, more than just another name in a crowded classroom.

The glow of the neon sign flickered as they entered, a welcome beacon in a world that felt increasingly fraught. The scent of stale sugar and frying oil surrounded them, a stark contrast to the crisp evening air outside. He moved ahead, surveying the sparse clientele with the cool detachment of a predator.

This is who and what he was, what he had always been and now what she must accept about herself. He could easily kill everyone here and no one would ever be the wiser to look in his direction. ❝ Two coffees. ❞ Jerry ordered, his voice smooth and sure, as if he were at the helm of something grand.

His gaze flitted around the room, assessing every table, every patron, like a hawk searching for a weakness. The man in the corner sat with a cup that was already half-empty, his movements sluggish, the paper crinkling in his hands as he fought to stay awake. Jerry’s mouth watered slightly at the thought of what lay beneath that sallow skin, the pulse that was begging to be tasted. He could almost hear it, a steady thrum echoing in his ears, drowning out the faint top forty playing over the speakers.

❝ Tell me, Amy. Did you think you could just go about your normal life ? That nothing would change ? Do you forget what happens when sunlight touches the skin ? Darkness is the ONLY constant now. ❞

A step was taken forward. Her gait less calculated. Here, she was not the monster come to stalk or hunt. She was the wounded wolf seeking company of the humans that hunted along beside its territory. It was an uneasy truce in this small, warm room where the Princess laid her head.

"A taste, Princess..."

There should be anger, malice directed at Anna, but there was a severe lack in hatred in this shared moment of warmth, silence. The air felt uneasy, yet not unwelcoming.

"I will not kill you on this night."

Aleera countered herself at the windowsill. Gaze focused out on the looking castle where the Master lay with Verona, wrapped warm and snug in true lover's embraces. There was no glance at Anna as she heard the threads scrape against fabric, heard the needle pierce through thin fabric like nails slashing wolf hide to ribbons.

Finally, a glance was directed toward the Princess. Aleera knew it was a strong request, but did her sentence not deserve some fair reward for a life saved?

Head bowed. Gaze settled on the jewels that adored her fingers -- gifts from a harsh lover who claimed he held no heart. It was just another adornment. An anger settled within her, deep and feral. A hint of envy or jealousy flushed across her cheeks. Would she have been cast away to suffer if it were only her at his side?

Anna's heart stumbled in her chest. " A taste ? " The idea of surrendering even a drop of her blood sent a shiver down her spine. Yet, beneath the chill, there was an odd flutter of something that felt perilously near curiosity. She instinctively touched her neck, recalling the sting of the wolf’s bite and the cold whispers of Aleera's presence just moments ago.

She could see the shape of Aleera silhouetted in the dying light, but the contours were less sharp than they had been before. The tension lingering between them felt almost like a breathing entity, wrapping them in a cocoon where the outside world faded -- the howling winds, the skeletal trees, the stark landscape of the mountains beyond the stone walls. A boundary had been drawn, and it was as thick and suffocating as the silence that hung in the air.

Anna's pulse quickened again, an erratic drumbeat in her ears. What kind of choice was this ? She had always been told that their kind craved blood, but this felt like a request laden with more layers than hunger alone. ❝ Ah, so you want me to rid you of what stands between you and the Master. Do you think that will change anything ? ❞

Anna took a half-step back instinctively, but her body betrayed her. Curiosity clashed with reason, and her hand instinctively brushed the crossbow, though it remained unraised. A taste in exchange for peace between the two of them… for now ?

❝ What would become of us if I say yes ? ❞ She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with uncertainty. Each word felt fragile, as though stepping on glass. Would she really be willing to draw blood, to offer a piece of herself in an exchange that felt more like a gamble than a bargain ?

The dimming light caught the sharp angles of the vampire’s face, casting shadows that danced across her features. Was it beauty or something more sinister that gripped her gaze ? It reminded Anna of the moonlight glinting off fresh snow -- beautiful, but deadly in its alteration of the familiar. ❝ What assurance do I have that you won’t take more than just a taste ? ❞

Could she risk that trust ? A part of her wanted to scream, to grab her weapon and retreat into the safety of her solitude, but there was something keeping her rooted.

“You think I’m an addict,” he rasped, voice rough and low, green eyes burning into hers. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache. “But I’m not.” His head gave a small, frustrated shake, like he was trying to knock the noise loose. “This isn’t me chasing a fix, Ruby. This—” his voice faltered for half a second before hardening again, “—this is Azazel’s fault. He put this in me. Every. Damn. Drop.”

But the words sounded thinner than the roar in his head. The smell of her blood hit him again—iron and heat and something darker under it—and his control slipped another inch. His gaze dropped to the thin cut at her throat, the slow line of red sliding down the curve of her skin. His breathing hitched and his tongue dragged over his lower lip without him realizing it. For a second, he just hovered there, inches away. Then something in his blood snapped.

Dean lunged forward before he could stop himself, mouth closing over the cut at her throat like instinct had taken the wheel. The taste hit his tongue—warm, metallic, alive—and the screaming in his head went dead quiet all at once. His grip on her tightened as he dragged in a desperate swallow, the relief hitting him like a shockwave through his veins. Then another swallow. And another.

Ruby’s hand had gone to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the short, rough strands as she pulled him closer again. The abrupt withdrawal left a pang of loss simmering in her gut, but she didn’t show it. Instead, she let a slow smile unfurl, sharp and knowing, like a blade being drawn out of its sheath. She wanted to feel every ragged breath he took, the way the warmth of her blood clung to his skin.

❝ Dean… ❞ she whispered, voice low and sultry, not letting go of his hair. ❝ You don’t have to fight it, and you don’t have to torture yourself. ❞ The taste of iron lingered on her tongue, mingling with the thrill of the chase. Each heartbeat reminded her how alive she felt, how raw everything intensified in the space between them.

She could almost sense the conflict swirling in him, the way it rippled like a current beneath his skin. A part of him wanted to retreat, to separate himself from what he’d just done, but there was that other part, fierce and primal, that craved to dive deeper into the madness. ❝ Just admit it, ❞ she urged, letting her thumb brush along the nape of his neck, feeling the tension there, as taut as a drawn bowstring. ❝ We can ride this out together. ❞ Her voice dripped with honey, tempting, teasing. She could see the shadows flickering in his eyes -- fear, hunger, disgust, maybe even a little desire -- all tangled up in a mess that was beautiful to behold.

The electric thrill ignited her senses, and she leaned in, her breath ghosting over his ear. ❝ You’re fighting something that wants to set you free, Dean. You can’t just deny it. The sooner you let it happen, the sooner you can get on with whatever it is you want to do. ❞ The heat radiated from him, a furnace of conflicting impulses -- a man on the brink, teetering on the precipice of his own nature. She loved this dance, the push and pull, the way he wrestled against the voices in his head that were clawing for dominance. Suddenly, she curled her fingers tighter in his hair, jerking his head back just a little, just enough to catch the line of his jaw in her gaze. With her other hand, she traced a fingertip over the cut at her throat, gathering the blood she had drawn. ❝ You are what you are, ❞ she teased, her lips curling. ❝ There’s no coming back from this. ❞

this is a thousand bad ideas wrapped into a bundle of nerves that are ground raw and electric with a growing want that he's always been fucking so piss poor about ignoring to the point of stopping. the idea of pulling away further than he is now? of reclaiming any sorta distance that might've existed earlier? out of sheer force of a dwindling willpower that feels like he just backed up his impala over the bulk of what was left just to make sure it was real dead before slamming it in drive, hitting the gas pedal and speeding right towards a cliff after running it over again---is now as dead as that imagery'd be. deader. the kind that gets shoved in a grave and forgotten about level dead.

..she smells so fucking good. vanilla and spices. ones that mingle with the scent of the oils on his skin to an intoxicating level. makes him crave another whiskey. or least sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip to gather an aftertaste of the flavor his mouth left behind. hands busy on her hips, tracing up the sides of her waist--he's left with plan b. her murmur of it not meaning anything is decorated and stamped with a press of his lips against the edge of her mouth. over the corner of her chin. "not a damn thing," he parrots back denying the deepest knowledge that it's gonna mean a shit ton if what is happening her ever sees the light of day.

maybe there's a thrill in that part. he'd be lying and everyone who knows him would know he was full of shit if he denied that adrenaline is as big, if not bigger, of a drug than the liquor flowing through his veins on a damn close to non-ending basis. of doing what he shouldn't when every piece of him is screaming that fuck it, yes he should! yeah. that's a fucking mistress he's been kneeling to since.. well.. freaking forever, feels like. tonight's no different...

fuck.

could be the worst it's been in a long, long damn time.

"a fucking horrible idea.." dean doesn't give a damn. not when the music's shifting low and steady and he's pushing her down against his lap cause the heat between his thighs is coiled with a tingling spark that dances over his stomach and up his chest. there's a groan that bobs his adam's apple tumbling over his lips by the time he meets hers again. "but.. m'not really givin' a damn right now. if i'm honest.." she's warm across his legs. against him. fingers drift underneath the hem of her shirt. exploring soft skin that's framed by a bra he's got no idea the color of. til he starts to pull her shirt over her head and gets a glimpse himself.

green eyes swallowed by dark black pupils take her in as he guides the fabric over her head. hungrily devouring the sight of her soon as he balls it up and tosses the garment onto the floor--his lips are stuck parted as he eagerly takes in every inch of her skin, gaze combing over beauty marks and pale skin. she's beautiful. always has been. temptation wrapped in leather and lace. how the hell does anyone expect him not to want her? they're fucking crazy. that's how. lips twitch into a grin and then his tongue finds her skin, stamped right at her collar bone then trailing lower. damn right. fuck consequences. he'll deal with those later.

The sensation of Dean’s warm breath against her skin sent a thrill racing through her, igniting nerves she hadn’t even known were lying dormant. The world outside faded completely, leaving just the two of them ensconced in this cocoon of want and heat. She could almost taste the tension in the air, thick and sweet, as he kissed down the column of her neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire that made her gasp. As his hands explored the small of her back, fingers splaying wide, she could feel each gentle squeeze along her spine like an electric pulse.

The music thrummed softly in the background, a sultry rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the quickening tempo of her heart. How was it possible that they had crossed this line so easily, so recklessly ? But the thought slipped through her fingers like water. She felt the rush of blood in her veins, potent and alive, as his mouth moved lower, grazing sensitive spots that made her arch against him instinctively. A soft sigh escaped her lips, almost a plea for more, and she tangled her fingers in his hair -- so thick, so warm -- and pulled him closer still. It was like dancing along the edge of a cliff, exhilaration battling sheer madness, and she welcomed the fall.

❝ Dean… ❞ She breathed, her voice husky and raw, filled with longing. There was no going back now; not in this silence filled with the echo of their breaths and the distant thrum of the old radio. Gemma swallowed hard, the knot in her throat only amplifying the ache that coiled in her belly. Suddenly, the weight of what they were doing crashed over her. A brief flicker of hesitation marked the moment as she stared into the depths of his eyes, wild and hungry. But before the thoughts could take hold, her hips rotated, grinding against him, igniting a sensation that obliterated any lingering doubt.

No more questions. Just this raw, desperate need that surged between them. Her fingers curled into the bottom of his shirt, the fabric was rough against her fingertips as she lifted it up and over his head. She surrendered fully to the intoxicating pull, leaning in to claim his lips once more, sealing the agreement they had both made. His skin was warm and firm against her palms, a jolt of satisfaction coursed through her. She had to fight to keep a moan from spilling out, feeling his muscles twitch and flex beneath her touch.

Her hands moved to the back of her bra where she pulled free, her fingers nimble, trembling with anticipation. One quick flick, and the clasp released. The delicate fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing pale skin that glowed in the dim light; she felt exposed yet impossibly alive under his gaze. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her own chest, the thudding urgency syncing with the lust that simmered just beneath the surface. The way he studied her -- a mix of reverence and hunger -- wrapped around her like a warm blanket. It stirred something within her, something wild and unbridled.

                             "OH YEAH, IT WILL. But I'm not your run-of-the-mill angel, I'm an archangel, and it will take some time to fizzle out, my dear Sam." That, unfortunately, is true. Castiel looks around at the Balrog that keeps cheerfully destroying every tent it comes across, roaring into the dark night. The question is: who will have more time, Gabriel or them? Luckily, Castiel doesn't have to make that decision: Sam decides to take one for the team (which is a saying Castiel finally understands now), which is admirable, but Castiel can't help but look in shock at Sam for a moment before he manages to school his face into a more neutral expression. 

“ Put out that fire, will you ? ” Sam's pulse quickened at the audacity of the archangel, the way he brushed off the dangers they had just escaped. Just moments ago, lives had hung in the balance, and now it felt like a game to Gabriel. Sam clenched his fists at his sides. This wasn’t a game. Not for him. Sam’s stomach twisted, realizing the trap he now stood in. He knew better than to take the archangel at face value; every encounter felt choreographed, with Gabriel pulling the strings and Sam the puppet. He could feel the heat radiating from the flames he had just doused, a relentless reminder that danger was never truly far away. The crackling embers hissed as they settled, and he took a cautious step back, the grass beneath his sneakers still warm to the touch. Gabriel was still floating a few feet away, an untouchable enigma in that radiant glow. The archangel watched him with a mix of delight and mischief, like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse.

❝ Gabriel… ❞ Sam’s teeth clenched tighter. ❝ THAT is NEVER going to happen… EVER. ❞ Of course Sam was speaking about the end of the outing -- ‘the funny bussiness.’ As soon as he agreed to the 'outing,' he had felt the weight of the world shift around him, the palpable pressure building against his chest, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. He’d done worse, he reminded himself, but that didn’t lighten the burden resting on his shoulders. He glanced around the park, the remnants of the chaos still scattered about: overturned tables, remnants of costumes littered like fallen leaves. He wanted to punch that grin off the archangel's face, but instead, he just just shouted. ❝ One hour… that’s all you get. ❞

Into the meanwhile sleepy town leads their road. Only the headlights did shed a dim light until street lamps began to add their brightness. White, cold and clinical. He finds himself missing the time where warm luminiscence carried the soul of a place through nights. No person in the streets. Just the odd silhouette flitting past curtains within lit rooms reveals that there exists life as they drive by— Cain shoots Mary a side glance in direct response to her shower comment. His amusement remains subtle, although it's with a shake of his head that he returns his attention to the path ahead. Letting it linger on her for too long would result in distraction. "I'm not talking about the average shower. But... you'll see." A few miles and they exit the town again, reach a crossroad and he steers them toward what looks like a forest. The path off the road and into that green rocks the truck as Cain lowers the speed; usually a fast but safe driver. He doesn't want to risk running a wild animal over. They come to halt by a high fence, on which a few meters on the left, there's a plate reading "Quarry Pond - Entry" with an arrow pointing further left. The entry is closed, of course. But that's no hindrance. He turns off the engine, key plucked and seatbelt soon clicked loose.

Before Cain opens the door, he regards Mary with an expectant wag of brows, sure she can guess now what the plan was. He never claimed it to be conventional, did he? "I hope you can swim", is all he says, then finally gets out of the vehicle. No alarm will go off when no lock gets picked, teleportation be thanked. Sure, a dive into water fully clothed or semi, without an extra set of dry fabric and towels, is only half the game. If one goes by normal patterns. But it's warm outside and nobody ever died from driving back home soaking wet. And what in a demon's or hunter's life is normal anyway?

The crunch of gravel shifted beneath her sneakers as Mary stepped out of the truck, the nighttime air wrapping around her like a cool blanket. The scent of damp earth and pine trees filled her lungs, fresh and invigorating, far less cloying than the stale air of the bunker she’d left behind. For a moment, she felt like laughter might bubble up, an uncontrollable surge of giddiness brought on by sheer spontaneity and the thrill of stepping outside her carefully composed world. She watched Cain as he maneuvered around the driver's side, his movements fluid and confident, as if he belonged to the shadows that danced between the trees. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth hinted at mischief, and she couldn’t help but return it, their energy swirling in the night like fireflies. Her heart raced with curiosity and a hint of daring; did he really mean to dive into the quarry pond ? The idea danced like a flame in her mind, a flickering possibility that offered warmth against the chill.

❝ Swim ? ❞ she responded, allowing her voice to rise in a playful lilt. ❝ You’re joking, right ? ❞ But even as the words left her, she felt the knot of excitement tighten in her stomach. Whether he was serious or not didn’t seem to matter; she was drawn into this reckless, wild night, ready to follow wherever it led. ❝ Not even a swimsuit ? You sure know how to woo a girl. ❞ She quipped, a teasing glint in her eye as she shifted from one foot to the other, her sneakers scuffing against the gravel. ❝ And what if I don’t know how to swim ? ❞ She challenged, half-joking, but her laughter slipped out with an accompanying thrill. She stepped closer to the front of the truck, a gleam of mischief lurking at the back of her mind.

She leans her back against the front of the truck, arms crossed in front of her. ❝ That lock on the gate makes me thing there is going to be some teleportation to keep us from going to jail ? ❞ He did say they wouldn’t be going to jail tonight. Her lips purse together and finally pushes herself away from the truck. ❝ Fine, let’s go. ❞ She walked up to Cain standing in front of him. ❝ Maybe I’ll just float on my back. Let the night take me where it will. ❞ She wasn’t going to back down from this -- just one night she wanted to just be Mary, a little wild and reckless. So far, Cain was delivering just that.

With a gentle nudge of his elbow, Daryl led Beth to the barn. Before entering its interior, they did a quick search around the structure. There were no vehicles or equipment. The owners must've taken everything they could when they up and left. Whether it was due to the outbreak, or reasons predating the former, the aged barn was left to the elements.

The crossbow remained loaded when he and Beth carefully pulled the doors open. Daryl expected resistance; maybe the owners would've locked up before leaving. But he was also ready for a nasty surprise in the form of walkers. His mind flashed to Beth's former home, where her family kept their barn full of them, including deceased loved ones. Including Sofia, Carol's daughter. Neither turned out to be the case, because inside the barn was the skeleton of what used to shelter crops, livestock, and general storage. Hay was scattered across the floor, while the stalls were void of anything living or dead.

The smell of aged wood, hay, and dirt filled Daryl's nostrils, as the inspection continued. He'd anticipated the unmistakable reek of animal shit, but seeing how old this place was, that odor was likely absorbed by time. A ladder was propped against the back wall. Daryl instructed Beth to watch the door while he climbed up to the loft using the ladder.

Muscles ached, and the cold air made tiny goosebumps along his exposed skin, but he pushed forward. He saw old bales of hay stacked along the wall. An empty bedroll was on the floor, with a small stack of books and pens by the head rest. Still not allowing himself to lower his defenses, Daryl poked through the hay, to make sure nothing was hiding in them. Whether it was walkers or pests, the last thing he wanted to deal with was something gnawing on him.

Beth’s heart beat a little quicker at Daryl’s words. It felt good to be in a place that had potential, a place that could be theirs for at least one night. She stepped back as Daryl moved to secure the doors, her fingers lightly grazing the rough wood of the barn wall. It was solid under her hand, sturdy and unyielding. She took a deep breath, inhaling the musk of aged hay and the faint sweetness of memories that lingered here.

Finding the ladder next to Daryl, she helped hoist it into the barn. The sound of its wood scraping against the walls echoed softly, bouncing around the empty space. They had done it. They were making a home, even if it was just temporary, and that thought brought a flicker of warmth amid the cold.

She would watch him ascend the ladder with fluid ease, his movements confident -- he was comfortable in his own skin, in command of the space around him. She admired that. As Daryl reached the loft, she followed his lead, climbing after him cautiously. The rungs felt worn under her hands, but they held her weight without issue. Each step got her a little closer to the unknown above. She stepped onto the wooden floor of the loft; what was left of the daylight poured in sporadically through cracks in the walls, illuminating specks of dust dancing in the air like tiny stars.

❝ Looks like someone was here before us. ❞ She observed, glancing over at Daryl. They might just get a good night’s rest, maybe even feel safe for a few hours.

She began looking around, her fingers trailing along the weathered fabric, curiosity piqued by the sight of the scattered books. She picked one up, dust swirling around as she did, and opened the cover, the pages yellowed with age. A few sentences caught her eye, words of adventure and bravery amidst a world that was, perhaps, never as daunting as what they faced now. She smiled, an unexpected bloom of warmth spreading through her chest.

❝ If we needed, I bet we could stay here for a few days. ❞ She didn’t or wouldn’t stop looking for the others, but they also had to take care of themselves along the way. They were in this together, and together they could take on whatever lay ahead -- one day at a time.

“I love you, I can’t leave no matter how many times I try. This is where I belong, we both know it. All we have is each other, our children are lost” the man whispered, his arm soon moving around the woman’s waist. The kingslayer knew she struggled to deny him, even if she were to pull away, he’d always find a way back. Jaime tugged her in, pressing their bodies together as he quickly connected their lips - before she could argue back.

❝ Nothing else. ❞ He had said. The words hung between them, resonating with a truth that sent a shiver down her spine. Would it always be just the two of them against the world ? But the world was no longer the same; their enemies were no longer distant threats but encroaching wolves clawing at their foundations. With every breath they took, Cersei felt the walls surrounding them tightening, the precarious nature of their reign flash before her like an omen. The fear of losing him, the fear of crashing back into the darkness she had clawed her way out of. Cersei could taste the salt of her own tears barely held at bay, a bitter reminder that vulnerability had no place in the world they ruled. She would not let it surface; she refused to be broken by this moment.

She looked up at Jaime, his expression laced with determination, and for a split second, she hesitated. His presence filled the space between them -- a fortress and a dagger all at once -- and it made her dizzy. What if he was right ? What if they truly were meant to stand together against the world, against everything trying to tear them apart ? But something deeper clawed at her heart, a fear rooted in the marrow of her bones that whispered of betrayal, of the inevitability of loss. She swallowed, the taste of iron mixing with the remnants of their kiss.

❝ You think it’s that simple, don’t you ? ❞ She shot back, her voice a harsh whisper, edged with defiance. The words slipped past her lips before she could rein them in, fueled by an urgency that beat like war drums in her chest. She pushed against him lightly, trying to create the space necessary to think clearly, to fortify her heart against the pull of familiar ties. She felt the tightening in her throat as she recalled the screams of battle, the cries of their children. Each image was a jagged piece of glass buried deep within her. ❝ Our children are gone, their lives were the price of my failures. I shall not fail again, Brother. The price is more than I can pay. ❞ She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to maintain her composure.

“ you are such a perfect little thing , trained well by her septa . ” a lithe finger tapped against the stem of her goblet , her words seeped with disinterest . the queen stood from her seat and wandered towards a window , her hand trailing along the stone wall to keep herself balanced . outside , the city flickered gold and she could only look out with utter contempt .

“ you remind me of myself at your age , little dove . ” foolish . naive to think that all her problems would be solved by marrying a king , that she would wield great power . “ but septa’s lessons will only get you so far , they will not protect you . not here . ” her head did not turn , her gaze frozen on the city below them .

Cersei’s dismissive laugh echoed off the stone walls, a cruel melody that twisted in Sansa’s chest. Each note felt like a taunt, digging into her resolve until she felt as fragile as the finest glass. She could almost see herself, splintering under the weight of the Queen’s scorn. With every moment, the air thickened, and Sansa struggled to find her words, searching for a lifeline amidst the rising tide of dread.

What would it take to silence the woman before her ? The dark silhouette of Cersei framed against the glowing city felt insurmountable, an embodiment of the very power that threatened to consume Sansa whole. Outside, lights flickered like stars fallen from the heavens, casting their shimmer against the stone. They seemed so far removed from this chamber of deception and despair.

❝ I only wish to make him proud, Your Grace. ❞ Sansa managed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The truth collided with her aspirations, churning uneasily in her stomach. The more she tried to pacify Cersei, the more she felt the Queen’s disdain wrapping around her like a noose. A chill ran down Sansa’s spine, and she clenched her fists tighter, fingernails biting into her palms. The fleeting warmth of the wine faded, and within the cold grasp of the Queen’s words, Sansa felt the chill deepen within her. A flicker of doubt ignited in her mind -- could she truly shoulder the burden of this marriage ?

The heat of embarrassment flooded Sansa’s cheeks as she fought the urge to look away, focusing intently on a fine thread of gold woven into the stonework beside her. Each elaborate detail became a refuge, a distraction from the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. ❝ You’re so beautiful, Your Grace, it’s hard to imagine any man growing bored of your company. ❞