Reagan's hair blew in her face as she sat in her sewing lesson. The cold air hurt her face, but she didn't dare stop sowing. The Septa was an ugly woman, with an uglier personality. Her puckered up face only had one expression - anger. Reagan had to admit, she was scared of her.
"Girl." Is that any way to talk to your princess? Reagan thought. It was no use to say it out loud.
"Yes Septa?" She didn't look up from her work.
"Has your moonsblood come? Or has any boy soiled you?" Reagan cringed.
"No. I am going to visit Bran. Don." Septa didn't like nicknames. Reagan stood up and almost ran out the door. She was breathing heavily, which was not easy to do in tight corset. She pushed open the door, the smell of winter roses ticking her nose, faint and pleasant.
"Reagan." Brandon greeted her from the bed. She moved towards him, forgetting her dress as she knelt.
"How are you faring? Is the pain dreadful?"
Brandon smiled lightly at his sister. "Reag, I'm fine, Which is more than can be said for the man who pulled me from the flames."
Whimpering "Please, no....". The sword came down, the blade cold and sharp. scarlet drops painted the ground, leaving a metallic smell which burned Reagan's nose. The man's head rolled, stopping near her shoe. She kicked it away with a cry of disgust.
Reagan flinched at the memory.
"So it's true. He is dead." Reagan nodded.
"It was a good clean death. He was brave." Reagan lied. She didn't want to cause her brother any more distress.
An excruciating wave of pain washed over her. I'm dying, I have to be.
"Bran. I love you." All faded to black.
