𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼𝑉

~The Castle of Cares~

The jaggedly rough edges of bark pressed painfully into her back, though she did not feel it, so numb was her translucent skin; icy to the touch. The thick roped wrapped around her small body burned her, turning her wrists a raw red that would normally have her flinch, but she did not feel it.

She did not feel.
She did not hear.
She did not see.

Her mind and body alike were trapped in a land of forced sleep where no dreams or nightmares dared to venture. Reality was nightmare enough for the girl. While the Nevilles and their men laughed and feasted by a fire, Catherine lay strapped to a sturdy tree trunk, helpless against the invisible ropes of unconsciousness that bound her.

A living death had claimed her.

Golden locks of hair tangled wildly around her face, damp with the mud and raindrops from trees that had grasped cruelly at the flaxen curls when the Nevilles had made their escape.

What a fall for a girl so high.
On the edge of a golden world.

She was a pitiful sight, John thought, as he watched her from the fire, a weak, small little thing that could no more win a fight against a bird, let alone a group of grown soldiers. Even in sleep she shivered in her thin nightgown, once clean with not one stitch out of place.

Now the hem was frayed and dirty, the fine cuffs ripped and John felt his stomach twist with sympathy. 'We will not hurt her' Richard had said yet cuts and bruises that were sure to sting her painfully marked her cheeks and jaw. The men had not inflicted them upon her but John had to admit, his brother had been rather careless, drunk on victory, when he had ridden away from Alnwick, their prize slung over the back of his horse.

"Feeling sorry for the little Lancastrian, brother?"

He turned at the sound of Richard's amused voice, not surprised to see the little smirk on his lips that accompanied such a tone. Now he was not just drunk on victory, he was drunk on ale, so much so he swayed slightly upon the stump he sat on. John quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you not?"

Richard shrugged a little, draining the contents of his cup once again before he tugged of his cloak and rose to his feet. His steps were neither sure nor steady but he managed to get to the tree where his captive was bound, draping the heavy woollen clock over the small girl before he returned to the fire.

"She reminds me a little of Anne" He muttered dully almost as if his act of kindness caused him pain while he refilled his cup "I would not like to see her cold"
"Now who's feeling sorry for the little Lancastrian?" Thomas quipped from across the fire, earning yet another glare that night from his elder brother.

At that moment a small rustle caught their attention and the brothers turned to see their captive was beginning to stir, her weak limbs stretching as they tried to grasp at some remanence of life.