To Oc:That's a nice threat. But you're late.

What? Am I supposed to lock myself up in a nunnery or something? You're saying that as if I don't already get flames and threats. Since I am already dealing with that, I'll just go on writing and do as I always do.

The door opened with a sharp little sound, startling Ashara. She looked towards the entrance only to see her husband making his way in, a sullen cast to his face. He had been gone for a bit, presumably to talk to his sister. As far as Ashara could tell, the interview had not gone well. Little, in fact, had gone well since finding out about the heinous accusations thrown her good-sister's way.

Having been on her own during her husband's absence, she had been given enough time to think upon the matter seriously. Lyanna Stark, a murderess. It seemed a shocking thing. Not because she was a woman. After all, people could be vicious as a general rule. Certainly not because of her measurements either. Ashara would be more than shocked, profoundly disappointed even if it turned out that her good-sister was the mind behind the crime for the simple reason that she had trusted in her. To trust in such a person had bearing upon her ability to judge. Truly, it was rather simple.

Eddard's return spelled the end of her meditation however. She took one look at his face and, with her heart giving a painful lurch, came to the realisation that not all was well. "What is this, husband? I know 'tis a difficult situation, but the grim expression you wear," she trailed off, a small motion of the hand ending the spoken thought.

He gave a shake of his head in reply and sat down upon a stool. "I know not what to say." The young knight poured himself a cup of wine and his lady wife approached his silently. She placed her hand upon his shoulder for no more than a fleeting heartbeat. The silent coaxing went unanswered.

Ashara pursed her lips. "Sibling rivalry seems to come to life rather faster than expected. We've not been here for more than a few hours." But she knew, even as she spoke the words, that Ned was not acting sullen over a minor annoyance. Nay, the angry lines of his face whispered of something far more serious.

"Would that it were that," he confirmed her suspicions, downing half the content of his cup. "Would to the gods that it were that."

Ashara stepped away so she might take a seat to his left. "Then what is it?" Siblings could wield sharp tongues as well as strangers. Most of the time even better. Strangers could be dismissed after all.

"She blames me for her unhappiness." She, Ashara deduced, given that her husband did not name her, was the sister. "What guilt do I carry in this, I ask you." The cup slammed against the wooden surface of the table.

"I do not know, husband. What did she say?" the Dornishwoman prodded. It was not an easy thing to dismiss accusation one did not entirely comprehend. "What blame does she lay on your shoulders?"

"She told me I was blind, that I knew not my friend. Robert was like a brother to me, Ashara. Few can claim to have known him better than I." And yet his sister seemed convinced that he did not. Ashara knew very little of Lyanna's marriage. It had been obviously been arranged for the benefit of her house; but most marriages were and most of them went along ell enough. What made Lyanna's a different matter?

"Ned, she was his wife. A wife and a friend are two very different matters, are they not? I did not know the man and cannot speak of him with certainty. But mayhap there is some truth in your sister's words." She could not make a case for the deceased man or against him. But she could soothe her husband. "This is your sister, ser, and you would know how much weight her word holds."

"I do not think she lies," he declared, as if answering a question. But then again, her husband was not very good at detecting lies. Ashara sighed. Mayhap if she spoke to the lady herself. But nay, 'twas not for her to do so.

"If you credit her words, than what is the matter?" She found his hand and took it in hers, squeezing it affectionately. "Do you believe her to be wrong?"

"I believe she did not understand him, is all." That was a peculiar statement. "She was truly angry at the bastards. That was her argument against him even before they were wedded."

Of course, bastards. Ashara, having grown in Dorne, minded bastards very little. Some had dwelled within Starfall even in her youth. But growing and playing with them and having them under one's roof when one was a bride were different matters. True, she cared not for others' bastards, but if Ned were to being one of his own to her, she would not be well pleased.

On the other hand, she knew very well that for some men bedding meant little and was a sport. It did not negate feelings they might have for a sweetheart or wife for the sole reason that whatever woman they slept with was akin to a candle flame, bright for a heartbeat, forgotten in another. Such women did not matter.

Women, though, thought differently. They thought that because something mattered to them, then it would matter to the partner as well. Mayhap Lady Lyanna has simply equated what her husband had done with love for another.

If it was or wasn't, Ashara knew not. Only Robert Baratheon knew where his heart rested. "It is never pleasant to know one's self as being second to anyone." She waited a moment before rising to her feet. "But that makes no matter. Did you know about his bastards?"

"I knew about Mya and another one. I never thought he would continue after he married my sister." As no brother would, Ashara considered, unless the sister in question was a harpy of sorts. "He swore to me that he loved her."

"It might be that he loved her," Ashara allowed. "It might be that he didn't. But he is gone, husband, and we are still here. Let us not dwell upon that which we cannot find an answer to."

Yet Ned wished for time to think to clear his head. Ashara let him be. She would do him no service by forcing him into a discussion he did not wish to have or rushing him back to his sister's side. Siblings had to work through their differences on their own.

Not without help, mind.

When came the time for supper, a servant carried the message that they were to join the household in the main hall. Though with little pleasure, Ned did so. Ashara was more hopeful. Surely at supper she would have a moment or two to speak to the other person she knew was as much interested in mending the rift as she was. And so she bade her time.

True to form, Benjen Stark met her eyes over the length separating them when she summoned his attention. Silent communication was not her forte, but she hoped her eyes conveyed the need to speak. He seemed to understand her well enough for all he returned to his brother.

The atmosphere was solemn. The only ones that seemed unbothered were the children. As children were wont to do, they met the recent tragedy with optimism. The darlings, they looked left and right, trying to guess if showing any sort of positive emotion might earn them someone's wrath. It reminded Ashara of her own sister. She could not help but hide a smile at the thought.

But supper drew to a halt soon enough and, while Ned made his way to the gardens for a stroll and the others retreated within, Ashara, having declined her husband's invitation, remained in the company of her young good-brother.

"You wished to have words with me," he said. There was no question; just an assessment. What an interesting matter.

"I still do," she replied. "Mayhap we might retreat somewhere else." It would not do to have the servants gossiping after.

"There is always the glass room," Benjen offered with an affable smile, Still, there was something guarded in his manner. "My lady," he invited her to take his arm by rising it slowly.

Together they made their way to the aforementioned chamber. It was located somewhere above the gardens, offering a good view of it in all its wintry splendour. Ashara made herself comfortable upon a stool and waited for Benjen to do the same. He sat down a bit away from her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, looking at one another searchingly, as if trying to read from a tome written in long forgotten scripts. It was just as well that he was wary, for she would not have spoken to him had he been less so. Convinced that she had made the right decision, The Dornishwoman cleared her throat for effect and was the first one to speak.

Petyr brought the bowl closer to Betha's lips. "You must eat something." Or rather drink it, the woman thought morosely even as the man tried to pry her lips open. "Betha, you cannot continue on so. Won't you tell us what happened?"

The oldest of her brothers, working at the smithy like their father had, Petyr lived with his wife and their two daughters. He had been the one to find her in the small hut, nearly frozen and bleeding. He had been insisting that she tell him why she was there and she had been stubbornly refusing to answer. It was almost a routine.

Worst of all, he'd had it written to the castle that she was ill and could not serve Lady Lyanna for the time being and the answer had been that she might have a few days of rest. It was in such times that the servant girl wished her lady was no so soft with them all. She should have demanded her return, so that Betha could tell her what she had seen.

Of course, if she could rise from her sickbed that was. Beth wrinkled her nose at the thin soup. The mere thought of food made her sick. There was nothing to in her stomach that she might regurgitate thankfully. Instead, she shook her head.

"I have to go back to the keep," she said, her voice frail, quieter even than the whistle of the wind. "Can you not understand, Petyr. I have to go there."

"Not until you are better." her brother declared, as if his wife took the bowl from his hands. "I cannot aid you if you continue on so. Gods be good, woman." His cheeks flushed as he raised his voice. "If you have such an urgent message, I'll carry it for you."

Never in a thousand years. What she'd seen was for her mistress' ears only and not for the likes of her brother to know. It was not so much that Betha did not trust Petyr to rely her message. But, as he worked away from the keep, it was not his business to know what went on there.

"I am content to wait," she answered in an equally annoyed voice, though hers was stretched to its limit. Yet Betha trusted she would be well soon and when she was, she would run back to the keep if she had to.

"Very well. Be it as you please," her brother spat, rising from the small stood he had sat upon. "I cannot waste my day away with you."

He mumbled his farewells to his wife and the two girls and left for the smithy, foul mood in tow. It served him right for trying to pry the secret from her. Betha huffed and drew the covers tighter around herself.

Tilly and Tansy edged closer and closer until they were practically pressed against her. Betha simply lifted the cover and drew further against the wall to make room for them as well. Their mother sighed softly. Jeyne came once again with the bowl of soup.

"Why must you antagonise him?" she questioned, handing it to her. "He only wants what is best."

"I know," Betha replied. "But this time he cannot help me, nor do I wish him to. I am a grown woman." And soon to be a mother, which she'd not told a soul of to anyone, for fear of what should happen then. "I do need my brother as a little child does apparent."

"You would know best," Jeyne allowed. "Can you not tell even me, though?"

Jeyne was a good sort. But Betha feared the woman would not understand. And rightly so mayhap. As sturdy as the earth itself, Jeyne had never carried any notions of a frivolous nature in all the years that Betha had known her. Her good-sister was calm and collected and well-intentioned, but a ready judge of those around her. Were she to tell about Stevron and herself, she would be sitting with a wood's witch as soon as possible and drinking a foul brew of moon tea. If that did not kill her, then the heartbreak would, she was certain.

"Nay. I shall speak of it when I am ready." Betha drank a bit of the cool liquid though her stomach protested. Despite her childish display and the ache she felt, she was hungry. "I pray you, do not foce the issue."

Jeyne nodded her head. "I must help out the seamstress today," she said after a short moment of silence. "Tilly and Tansy will get you what you need in the time I am gone. Do not strain yourself." The advice was taken in with a light smile.

The two daughters waved to their mother as she left the small hut.

"I believe we should all rest a bit," Betha suggested to her nieces. The two girls did no protest. Instead they closed their eyes and went to sleep, more than glad to have a reason to not perform their chores.

Thus, Betha was left with her own thoughts. And such dark thoughts they were. They revolved around the hut and Stevron. There had been someone behind her, she knew. She'd never seen the face, but she'd heard a voice, whispering quietly. Her heart had nearly burst, thinking that it was Stevron's spirit, come to taken her with him. But it had not been her lover, she realised later.

The voice had been too deep to be Stevron's.

Then had come the strange barking of dogs. And afterwards, only darkness.

Petyr had later claimed that he'd found her bleeding upon the ground, all alone in the cold hut with a burning candle. To Betha's mind, her attacker had been scared off by something before managing to kill her. Likely, it had been some stray dogs. Her brother could not have been far behind though.

It was all so very strange. She did not like it one bit. Especially considering that Stevron's body had been taken away.

Rhaenys caught onto his arm with a loud whine. "I do not wish you to go," she said, lips arranging in a pout the likes of which children oft exhibited. "Don't go, father." Her plea earned her a sigh from Rhaegar.

It was not that he wished to go, not at all. But what could he explain to a child? Instead of berating her for the stubbornness she showed, he picked her up in his arms. "I have to. I am needed there." It was the very same thing he'd told her before. It was also a variation of the explanation he had given his lady wife. And it was the truth. "The King is ill."

"Can you heal him?" his daughter questioned, eyes widening innocently at the incredible notion.

Rhaegar almost smiled. "Nay. I am not a maester, dearling." And if he were, he did not know if he should rush to the man's aid. There was Pycelle there, of course, to take care of such matters. "But he is my father, And it is my duty to be by his side in such trying moments."

His daughter gave a nod of the head, looking for all the world as if she'd gleaned an important piece of information. Might be she had. Rhaenys locked her arms around his neck. "Then take me with you, father." Her demand gave him pause.

The child was very similar to her mother in many respects. Her stubbornness evidence as much as her colouring. But even so, this was the very first time she'd asked to be taken along on a long journey. It might well be a child's desire or it could be that Elia had planted that seed. He did not know, not did he question it. It was not the time.

"Another time," the Prince answered, placing her down. "When next I go, I shall take you with me."

Far from appeased, Rhaenys gave him a long, sad look and tears filled her eyes. "But I want to go with you now."

"What one wishes for and what one needs are oft very different matters," he wisely replied. The meaning was lost on the child, as if often happened with children, through no malicious intentions but rather inexperience. He understood her frustration but was helpless to sooth Rhaenys. "Come, 'tis time to make for bed."

He helped her up into a nest of furs and drew the covers over her. Leaning in, he placed a soft kiss to her brow. "I shall return before you even know it."

Rhaenys made no reply, having made the decision to not speak a word more. Knowing he could not coax her into speech, Rhaegar merely blew out the candles that lit the bedchamber and made his way into the hallway. By the time he returned her mood would have improved, he was certain. Time had a way of helping such matters tremendously.

With that, he made his way to Aegon's bedchamber, intending to speak to the boy as well.

Unlike his sister, Rhaegar's son was less distraught at the news of his temporary departure. After dismissing the septa charged with watching over the boy as he slept, Rhaegar remained on his own with Aegon. The boy was more than pleased to hear what his duties would be with his father gone.

"I charge you with caring for your mother and sister until I return from King's Landing," Rhaegar instructed in as serious of a manner as he could devise. "I trust you shall not disappoint me." As Aegon seldom did. Rhaegar could not have asked for a better son.

"How long will you be gone, father?" his son questioned lightly, his voice slightly muffled by the covers he held before it for warmth. "If the journey is very long, I might have to take care of my new brother as well."

A moment of confusion ensued. Rhaegar blinked away the surprise though. "It might well be that your lady mother shall give you a sister."

Aegon grimaced. "Another? I want a brother." He let go of the covers. "I already have a sister." No doubt Rhaenys wished for a sister, were she asked. Rhaegar merely smiled down at him. "I'll take care of the child even if she is a sister though."

"As every great knight would," Rhaegar encouraged. Like most boys his age, he wanted little more than to become a knight. Such a wish made it much easier to instil into him a code of chivalry. "And like every great knight, you will be rewarded."

The little prince smiled excitedly. "What sort of reward?" Might be he should not have mentioned the rewards. Rhaegar laughed, stroking his son's hair.

"You shall see upon my return and not a moment sooner," he promised. "Sleep now. I must away."

Aegon, though disappointed that he had not found out what his reward would be, slid beneath the covers and closed his eyes. Rhaegar left him there. He went to the door and opened it, signalling that the septa should return to her previous activity.

"If there is anything amiss, write to me directly," he instructed the woman. She gave a nod of understanding, then curtsied as he made his way out of the second bedchamber.

And so it was time for him to say the last of his goodbyes. The Prince made his way to the bedchamber of his lady wife. Elia was still of a mind that it would be much better if she joined him, though it was her mannerism which suggested it and not her words.

She allowed him into her bedchamber as she always had, with a smile and a light glimmer in her eyes.

"So you have come to bid your farewells to me as well." There was no question. She opened her arms wide. Unwilling to ruin her mood, Rhaegar accepted the embrace as well as her unspoken invitation. "You shall be gone by the time I wake from slumber, shan't you?"

"So I shall," he agreed.

Eddard leaned back in his chair and watched his brother's face. The cup that Benjen held cam down, meeting the table with a loud thud. "Why would you think I have any sort of knowledge about the matter?" the younger brother questioned.

His acting had improved, Ned would allow. But there had still been a moment of concerned surprise playing upon his features. "You arrived before us, Ben, and you were here when he was still alive. I merely asked, is all."

"He was alive, but he wasn't here," Benjen argued. "And I do not badge our sister for this sort of information." Humourless laughter escaped his lips. "We both know how she felt about Robert, Ned."

Ned certainly thought he had. Until Lyanna had done what she did and turned everything upside-down. It still baffled him that a mere tourney and wedding had changed her mind about duty. In a sense, she was akin to Brandon. Both of them could be mulish when it suited them, and, most of the time, it suited them at all times. Something had determined her to act as she had. He'd been hoping that Benjen would tell him. Yet his younger brother seemed at a loss, or unwilling to.

Whichever the case, he was no closer to understanding his sister's decision that he'd been when speaking to her. Frustrated not for the first time at the lack of answers, Eddard took up his own cup, drinking deep. The wine did little to help his mood.

"I don't know," he replied at a long last. "I do not even begin to comprehend what it was that she felt for him. Not when she tells me one moment that she would gladly wed him and the next that she loathed him. What am I supposed to make of that?"

Lyanna's anger aside, it had not seemed to him that she was the least bit insincere in her revelation. That being the truth she chose to speak to him, Ned assumed, and rightly so, that she had a reason for her strong emotions.

Robert's bastards had originally been her strongest argument against the match, but it had seemed to him that the matter took a second place in her mind to duty when she decided to wed Robert. Why relent and keep quiet so suddenly after she had made her dislike clear? But it might well be that it had been the mistresses that bothered her.

His friend had always been the sort to seek quantity, vast amounts. Bed sport had been no different. But for all that he loved women without falling in love with them, Ned had truly believed that his sister would be the exception. Robert had acted in such a manner as to confirm it, certainly. Or so the silent wolf had believed.

Benjen stood to his feet. "If you would allow me, I should like to show you something." He waited for Ned to rise as well. "Follow me, my brother."

It was to the nursery that Benjen took him. Ned had had little interest in seeing it, though Lyanna had mentioned the chamber which served as nursery. To his surprise, it was not only Jon that resided within the chamber, but another child as well.

The nursemaid curtsied towards the two of them and quietly retreated into a corner, leaving the babe in the cradle and the older boy peering at the small creature. Seemingly absorbed, Lyanna's son did not turn towards them.

Benjen, unbothered, beckoned him closer. "Have a look at the child."

For a moment, as he looked within the cradle, he was struck. The babe, a girl of not many moons, looked up at the world through a pair of blue eyes. He knew those eyes. They were Robert's eyes. But his sister had only one child by her departed husband. Akin to another child he knew, a girl called Mya, the babe sported a head of dark curls, the ebony spilling against rosy cheeks.

"Her mother was a Lannister," Benjen supplied when Ned finally gazed his way "Ran away and left her here for Lyanna to care for. She wasn't lying when she claimed what she did about him." The proof squirmed before them, cheeks heating and mouth opening in a shrill cry.

The nursemaid intervened, picking the child up and offering nourishment. It was then that the other child turned towards them. Benjen knelt before the boy. "Visiting with your sister, are you?" he asked the child.

Jon gave a hesitant nod. He looked from Benjen to him, and for a moment Ned thought he saw something flash in the young boy's eyes. Worry, mayhap. But why? Yet Benjen distracted Jon soon enough. Ned breathed out in relief as those familiar eyes turned towards the youngest Stark brother.

"If 'tis not too much to ask for, I should like a favour," Benjen spoke, placing a hand upon Jon's shoulder. The young Baratheon considered for the length of a heartbeat before acquiescing. "Can you find your lady mother?"

"What do you want Lyanna for?" Ned interrupted.

Benjen waved him away with an impatient sound. "Never mind Uncle Ned," he told Jon, whose attention had drifted away once more. "Find your lady mother and bring her here with utmost haste. Can you do that?"

Vigorously nodding his head, the child made his way past them, breaking out into a run even as the nursemaid called for him to have a care. "Never worry," Benjen cut the woman off, "the boy is made of sterner stuff. A tumble won't stop him."

Growing impatient, Ned caught his brother by the shoulder. "What is it that you think you are doing?"

"What needs to be done," Benjen said. "You have questions which I cannot answer. Lyanna should be here soon though."

Incredulous, Ned watched as Benjen gave a swift nod before making his way out the door as well, leaving him in the company of the nursemaid and the feeding babe. He stood there, stone still, one step away from uttering a few choice words. He'd been stringed along.

But Benjen had not lied. His sister did arrive soon enough, her young son in tow. As soon as she saw him there, Lyanna's face coloured slightly. She hesitated a moment before turning her face towards Jon, but the boy merely skipped to where the nursemaid was, giving them both an innocent look.

"I believe we should talk," Ned said, unable to keep quiet any longer. It was unnerving enough that she'd not uttered a word.

Lyanna cleared her throat lightly. "I believe we should. Would you acre for a walk in the gardens?" There was a shy quality about her as she stood before him. It reminded him of every occasion upon which she'd been scolded in his presence.

He nodded his agreement and they left the chamber together, walking down the hallway, side by side, close, but still keeping a small distance. He supposed it was the distance that bothered him. Lyanna rarely put distance between herself and her family. Or she hadn't used to. Not to such a degree that it was noticeable.

Benjen did not have to suffer it though. Mayhap that was what bothered him. In many respects, Lyanna was mote Benjen's sister than his or Brandon's, for all the blood they shared. Benjen was the one who knew her He was the one who understood her. Strange that he should feel at all disheartened at the realisation. But there it stood; Ned wished he knew her as well as their younger brother did. That time had passed though. Yet he could start learning.

Outside the wind was blowing and snow was falling in gentle waves, clustering upon tree braches and bushes. They stopped beneath one of those many trees, staring at one another. Seemingly neither wished to break the silence. Yet silent they could not remain.

"I apologise," his sister spoke out quite suddenly. "It was wrong of me to say what I said to you. And I wish I could take it back."

But she could no more do it that he could forget hearing it. "Nay. Better to hear it from you than someone else." Anger had filled him then, but he had had time to recover. "I did not know. I never thought he would make you unhappy."

"'Tis not culpable, brother mine. You could not have known." Lyanna held one hand out, hope colouring her features. "My words were harsh and my anger even more so; I should not have directed them towards you."

"All is forgiven." He offered a small understanding smile. She smiled back as he took her hand.

Afterwards it was a squeal that left her lips as he pulled her in an embrace. "Ned, you fiend."

"Am I?" he questioned, more at ease when she wrapped her free arm around him. "Wolves are creatures of the wild."

Laughter was shared between the two of them. It would likely take time far longer than a few moments, but the mending had started and that was what mattered. At some point in the future, Med decided, he would ask her further about Robert.

It was the boy that caught his attention. Brandon drew his mount to a halt, pulling upon the reins. His sister was the next to greet his vision. The two of them looked the very part of mother and son. He could not believe they had finally reached Storm's End. The arduous journey was at an end.

Rickard dismounted after his eldest son did and was not at all surprised when Lyanna threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Lord father, you are finally arrived. This foul weather had us worrying."

"I've travelled through worse," he replied, pulling back gently. Eyeing the other people gathered in the courtyard he was pleased to see that all his sons had arrived. "Now good hostess, who might the lad keeping in your shadow be?"

Laughter broke past his daughter's lips. "I see you've noticed him. Very well, lord father. I shall tell you. This lad," she nodded towards the boy who had shyly drawn closer towards them, "is the one I love best of all the people I know. This is my son, Jon." The boy bowed, but kept silent.

"I do not think there was ever doubt of that," Brandon cut in, stealing his sister away into something that resembled a bone-crushing hug by the sound which left Lyanna's lips.

"Charming as ever," she teased after being released.

"You haven't changed either," Brandon offered with a smile. Then he turned towards the boy. "I daresay, Lya, I half-feared out blood would wane before the might of the Baratheon line. But I see you've put up a good fight."

"Now, now," Lady Baratheon chided. There was quite a difference between her and the daughter Rickard had known. "I shall have no dissention in my house and home. That tongue of your might get you in trouble, ser." She laughed after, gently slapping Brandon's arm. "Come. I believe Ned wishes to speak to you as well.

His middle son stepped forth, on his arm a lovely maiden. Rickard took a few moments to assess the mate Ned had chosen. It was beyond doubt that she was beautiful, fairer than the Queen herself from what Lord Stark remembered of the woman. What mattered, however, was her heart. That could not be assessed in the mere blink of an eye though. It would reveal itself in due time, of course.

"My lord," the Dornishwoman greeted, her voice silken. "Ser." She bobbed a perfect obeisance. "I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, my lady," Rickard answered. He saw her looking at his son from the corner of her eye and smiled. "I do believe we should make for within the keep," he said to Lyanna then.

"Of course, my lord father," his daughter agreed, leading the way, her arm resting upon his at his request. "I believe you are tired after such a long journey."

"You are quite right," Brandon nodded, chuckling at the glare she sent his way. "What a fine hostess."

A/N: Here is the newest chapter in our little journey. These are the clues in Caesarian shift, by 14, in case you were wondering. Happy decoding.

1) Ozz gwbg vojs hvswf dibwgvasbh.

2) Toawzm xskszzsfm cthsb vog gcas gsqfshg ybckb cbzm hc tsk.

3) Ghobbwg wg o ufsoh oqhcf.

In other news, I understood that some readers were put out by the apparent lack of morality in the story. I am sorry to have caused you unease, truly. But just in case there is confusion about this, all of the characters in this story are flawed individuals who will find at some point or another that such decisions as those that go against morality lead to unpleasant consequences. And by that I don't mean side characters.

But if any of my readers are in search of some sort of classical hero-type characters, this is not the story to be looking into. I just want to make that clear, because there does seem to be some confusion on that point.

Anyway, the reason why there are no pointed fingers and/or auctorial outrage at the immorality or amorality is quite simple: the chapters are written as POV parts. The narrator is a character, not an outsider. Which is why there will be little consensus throughout the story.

It's meant to be a difficult read, in other words. And the judgement must be cast by the readers.

As always, thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

Comments, theories and questions are eagerly waited upon. (Because I'm dying of boredom.)