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ELEVEN —— INNOCENCE DIED SCREAMING
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105 AC, STORM'S END.
There's a hollow feeling in Morrgian's chest by the time she finally leaves the library, mechanically making her way to the entrance to the massive drum tower and outside, letting herself close her eyes as the cold wind hits her face, pulling her back into the present with its intensity. She lets out a shaking breath, closing her eyes— relishing in the feeling of the biting wind that would bring tears to anyone unused to its sting.
They're nearing the end of the year— only a handful more more days and it will be the birth of a new one. And soon after that, Alicent will be married to the King.
And you will be, too, a voice says in her head and Morrigan's eyes snap open again, fingers curling into tight fists until she feels the sting of her fingertips biting into her palms.
"My lady?" A male voice to her side asks, vaguely familiar and Morrigan frowns, head turning to find a familiar face a few feet away.
Or rather, the face had been familiar once, when they'd been children and he'd been the closest friend she'd had. Her only friend, too. But then they'd both been twelve— nothing more than little children, really. Morrigan had been taller than him then by just a bit, and his face had still been rounder the way most children's faces were— now, he towers over her, face all edges and angles and jawbones. But, his blue eyes are still the same— like a clear sea.
A soft smile spreads across her lips. "Hello Eric."
Eric Knighton grins back at her. "I was worried you might not recognise me anymore."
Morrigan laughs softly. "Rather difficult to forget the boy who threw mud at me and my nice dresses on more than one occasion."
Erid laughs. "You used to despise those dresses. I was doing you a favor."
