Witch of Winterfell*Game of Thrones*

Prologue

I'D NEVER MET MY MOTHER OR MY FATHER.

Perhaps I did when I was younger, but I don't remember. When I look back I never have memories of a mother's kiss or a father's hug, whether it be because I had never had any parents in the first place or because they had just left me in the snow to freeze to death. I do, however, remember these creatures, small in size and rather ghoulish in appearance. They never spoke and neither did I.

What was I, a young helpless girl, to do in the presence of random troll-like women in the woods?

Absolutely nothing.

So, I let them do whatever they wanted to me, which only meant I had to drink their putrid beverages and eat their dry bark from one of their sacred trees. Though, that's when things began changing.

I had not known what it was at first, the red wisps seemingly flowing from my fingertips, that is, until the tree imps had finally spoken to me. They had called me a witch, their salvation and vengeance upon the world of man. Of course, being so young at the time, I had not known exactly what they meant or who "man" was, nor that I was one of them myself. All I knew was that I hated man for no reason at all, and I had promised to see that they would face judgement for their crimes. The imps had me practice my craft, first on the trees they once had me eat from then on a few of their own. Once they were satisfied they had me move on to their true threat; man.

It was fortuitous that a man had wandered into the woods that day, accompanied only by a few comrades and their axes. You see, they had planned to cut down trees for their lumber, a barbaric act against all the creatures in the woods. It fell to me to stop them, though, I was given precise instruction not to kill them. There was one man in particular that they wanted, and I never got his name, nor did he utter a single word before they had him bound and gagged to a Weirwood tree. The only thing I remember about him was his physical features; his lanky arms, unruly brown curls and his eyes.

His eyes were a beautiful dark brown, ones I had never seen before- albeit I had never seen another soul's eyes given the fact that I lived in the woods with imps. His eyes spoke the words his mouth failed to say, begging me to release him from his restraints. I couldn't. The imps wouldn't let me near him when they began the ritual. They forced me to sit as the pranced around his tree, throwing leaves and dirt into the air as they moved. Then, something happened. One of the Imps pressed a sharp jagged rock into his chest, slowly, eagerly watching his eyes. His brown eyes. It was only then that I took notice of the burning pain on my arm. A knife felt as though it was tearing a large chunk of flesh away but in reality no knife was near me. Still, when I look down there are lines spiraling into what looks to be a peace sign- though it is open and the lines are not connected to its center.

I come to find out later that it is the imp's symbol.

Then they were blue. His brown eyes had turned as blue as a winter night. His skin followed soon after and then he was named king. The Night King.