Nightmares plagued me for the weeks to come. A mind once belonging to myself alone became shattered in this hollow vessel I call a body; now shared with demons that crawled out of the depths and down my spine; filling heaving lungs with sickly poison in the wee hours of the morning.
Only he could send them away. The sound of his voice chased the darkness from my thoughts - flushing out the whispers that lulled me into frenzy. A familiar iron gaze bore down on me in the night during my outbursts - casting out vivid memories of the cell and it's crumbling walls. A firm hand lurched my fractured conscience from the gutter and brought me back to a realm where only he mattered. Harsh words mumbled in my ear each night - pushing through the web of hysteria, sweeping them away and leaving room for only him.
Ramsay spoke often of my vanquish to those that would listen, all plastering the same solemn expression on their face as he held me out for the world to see. A twisted tale of woe and pride; how a once begrudging slave followed him only out of fear. Yet now, under his hand alone, he had shattered and restitched a soul that worshipped his being. A life who's very existence seemed to depend entirely on his own. A pitiful existence at that. He never forgot to mention that part.
A once cruel hand that bruised and marred my skin now served as a comfort in my wake, with each new mark reminding me that I was alive.
Even as strong hands broke bone and teeth ripped at soft skin I would not cry for mercy. What would I be if not an outlet for his failures and frustrations? I had already ventured into the unknown under the foolish act that were Jon Snow's 'rescue' and came simpering back into my captors arms like a wounded pup to a bitch. A hard lesson learned and a mistake to never be repeated. I would live and die at Ramsay's side unquestioningly - even if he be the one to run the blade through my heart.
From the edge of my Lord's window ledge I had watched in silence as the sun crept away behind the tree line, once again giving room for the moon to rise like blue torchlight in the night - illuminating Winterfell and it's creatures in a soft glow. I let out warm breathes against frozen hands, the motion doing little to warm them as the puff of air turned to mist and dispersed before my eyes.
Ramsay had attended a dinner party that evening; hosting an ever growing list of bannermen joining arms to oppose the King in the North. It would not be long until the list of allies would match even Jon Snow's peculiar army of free folk and nights watch soldiers. Not that it were my concern nor business to worry about such things. However, I could still continue to quietly believe that men will start wars and end them until there were no men left at all - for there would always remain a throne with crazed Lord's and beggars alike hungry for its power and willing to kill for the right to sit upon it.
I waited for a long time near the window for Ramsay to come back; both pining for his return and anxious of the events that would unfold upon his arrival. No longer able to bare the cold, I slipped from my perch and began moving to the furs on the floor. It was then that I heard him.
Drunken slurs and jeers echoed through the hall and chased away the silence. A familiar voice was met with foreign whispers and giggles that rang high and shrill into the air.
The heavy oak door swung open and in traipsed the Lord himself with a woman, pressed close to his frame as one lazy arm hung loosely from her shoulders. Both were flush from laughter and wine from their night at the feast, but a quick glance to Ramsay confirmed that this night would not end with peachy smiles.
If only she knew.
"My dearest Ghost," The address was full of false endearment, a show for the audience at hand. "I have brought you a gift."
Confusion struck both myself and the doe eyed girl in his arms, who forced a nervous laugh from between painted lips.
"Oh, my Lord. I'm afraid I don't entertain the company of women - and I certainly don't like to share..." she purred the words in his ear as a now waining smile settled back into a well worn smirk.
I took a moment to admire the beauty of his new prey. Her head had been graced with lavish auburn hair, woven delicately into fine braids that fell down to frame rosy cheeks; a stark contrast in comparison to the porcelain skin that flickered under the candlelight. She wore a gown that sang of her good fortune, stitched with both silk and lace and other beautiful, nonsensical fabrics to wear during the harsh winter at hand. If it had not been for the encounter with my Lord I don't doubt she would have made a fine wife to a good man somewhere in the Kingdom. Perhaps she believed that good man were Ramsay. Perhaps she would die believing that. I had seen many a Lady, whore and maid wish him rid of whatever sickness had warped him this way. It made no difference, they all shared the same fate. Death did not care for beggars.
Now her life would end here - in this cold, grey room with nothing except the furnishings to bare witness as she withered away in the night like a fallen petal from a once blooming rose.
"Oh my sweet Allys, I agree. I also hate to share." Ramsay guided us both to the bed with a faux calm. "That is why I have come up with a game. A challenge of sorts." The room fell silent in anticipation. Allys still smiled prettily at him, not a trace of fear darting across her unsuspecting face - my own silence was one of preparation, both body and mind bracing themselves to watch in silence as Ramsay's disease took yet another life before me.
"I like games." Ally's chirped like a bird in the summer, with spring in her step and a teasing smile to follow suit.
"Oh, good." Ramsay's movements became much more calculated then, slinking away from our ovation and towards a nearby dresser. Daggers. I knew that was what sat patiently in the woodwork; lying in wait for Ramsay to call upon them. "The winner gets to sleep in my furs tonight. The loser gets..." He trailed off, eyes seeming to search the air for the right words, "a final goodbye."
"You wish us to compete for a night in your furs, Lord Bolton? I do not feel the need to lower myself to such a task. If you would prefer I leave, say so now and be done with it. I will not participate in begging for your attention, my Lord. Especially against the likes of your- your mongrel. " Allys and her shrill voice bristled at my side. Careless, drunken words spat in her outrage. Clearly the fine woman was not used to such treatment from her suitors; her once warm face becoming pinched and bitter at the audacity of such a game.
Ramsay tutted mindlessly as a hand rummaged in the drawer. "Oh Allys, we've had so much fun. Why spoil it now?"
A swift hand darted out and clutched a handful of the gold flecked hair beside me. Allys screamed in protest, but strong arms steadied her against the blade now pressed to her throat.
"You see, my mongrel seems to have lost her bite. Not so long ago, she could stand alone and face me in the light of day. She spoke with fire in her eyes, howled to the moon under my hand and her precious mind would run like the sun in the winter when I allowed a moments peace. I used to watch her, you see. Watch the fight and the fury and the defeat roll over her body as I took her. I liked taking her, Allys." Ramsay's voice had become ravaged as he spoke, the words dripping in disdain from his lips as he continued, losing himself in his sinful confessions. "It is my fault she is broken. I enjoyed watching her crumble before me, but I miss that fire, Allys. She has always burned the brightest. So you will give her life. You will bring her back to me. She will be reborn - and you will be the sacrifice."