WELL FLAYED [Game Of Thrones: The Boltons]

2. Metamorphosis

BLACK DRESS EMBROIDERED with black roses adorned her body as the servants tied the ribbons on the back.

Others gently lifted the handsewn escoffion and began to dress her head with it. The raven silk, lined with pearls and rubies covered her hairless scalp, and with it, hid away her humiliation.

Rubies linked with thin silver chains decorated her ears and the length of her neck; but one piece of jewelry mismatched the whole set, and it was the gold ring with the golden beryl sitting on her finger. She twisted it round and round while she stared at herself in the vanity mirror, hoping that somehow it would release a spell which could make her forget her pain and suffering. Though, as she stared deeper into her reflection, she was only reminded of the permanent scars she would see forever. There was no escape, not even a delusional dream that would make her hope again.

"Lady Nisha," Uttered Violet at her side. "Lord Ramsay is waiting for you at the great hall."

Nisha nodded then let her maidservant assisted her to walk outside her chamber and into the halls of Dreadfort.

At the great hall, stood Ramsay Snow. He matched the bleakness that his wife wore. Black gaberdine draped over his black leathered jerkin all the way down, that he appeared like an apparition of darkness. Eyes pale and gray, contrasted the dullness he surrounded himself, but held a reflection to the dismal gloom of its atmosphere.

He let Nisha hook her arm with his, and together, they ventured to the godswood. People lined the sides of their way while holding torches, and more people gathered around the weirwood tree - all in black, like they were some looming shadows of chaos in the day.

In the middle of it all, was a funeral pyre. A tiny body wrapped in white cloth was placed upon the wooden surface, and bouquet of flowers surrounded its form.

Lady Nisha moved closer to the pyre to have a one last moment with her child, gone too soon. No tears brimmed her eyes when she touched its chest, for her grief could not be measured with silent weeping. However, the ache was still there, clawing at her eyes that she could cry blood.

Ramsay went beside her then rubbed her back. "What do we call him?"

"Her name is Gevie." Nisha answered. "Beautiful in High Valyrian."

After reciting the funeral rites and prayer, Maester Aton handed the lady of the house the torch. Lady Nisha gave a long sigh of melancholia before setting the pyre ablaze. The flames immediately danced all the way up, until it devoured everything. The flowers quickly burnt into dust, but the fire took its time to eat away the remains of her stillborn child.

Ramsay and Nisha watched together in silence as red and orange hues incinerated the symbol of their tumultuous union. Their little girl, their little heir, held a piece of both their blood and souls - died the day she was born. The gods were perhaps not cruel, as they spared her early from a life of pain and suffering, at least as what Ramsay had in mind; but for Lady Nisha, it was a gift of malediction she would forever burden herself with.

When the flames faded as everything reduced to ashes, the people of the fort left to return to their stations one by one, until there were only two.

"We have to return inside." Ramsay uttered, taking his wife's hand. "It's getting colder."

But Nisha stood still, her eyes fixed at the glowing ashes of her child. "She's my beacon of hope. And they took her away."

"The gods are wicked. I know."

"My nightmares have faces, and they're not the unseen gods people are foolish enough to worship." Nisha pivoted her gaze at him; it held a certain atmosphere that was colder than the Northern wind. "It all comes down to us mortals."