Crimson Witch, Watching the Movies

Prologue

The moon hung low over King's Landing, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling city. Its narrow alleys and grand towers alike were bathed in silver light, but for Sirius, the night was anything but serene. He wandered the cobbled streets alone, his heart heavy with the weight of all he had lost. The past year had changed him, left him hollow and broken in ways he could never have imagined. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape the memories that haunted him.

Réalta. Her name was a whisper in the back of his mind, a constant echo of the sister he had loved and lost. Her laughter, her smile—everything about her lingered like a ghost, refusing to let him be. The image of her face was burned into his memory, a reminder of the love they had shared and the betrayal that had torn them apart. He had tried to move on, to let go of the pain that threatened to consume him, but it clung to him, tightening its grip with every passing day.

Guilt gnawed at his soul, relentless and unyielding. He could still hear her voice, accusing him, reminding him of his failure to protect her. It was a burden he bore alone, a weight that had driven him to the brink of madness. Ned had told him time and time again that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have stopped her from leaving. But Sirius couldn't let go of the feeling that he should have done more, that he should have seen the danger before it was too late.

And then there was the prophecy. That damned prophecy, the root of all his misery. Rhaegar Targaryen had torn his world apart because of it, driven by a vision that had stolen everything Sirius held dear. Réalta's death, his shattered happiness—it all traced back to that damned prophecy. Sirius had tried to forget it, to push it from his mind, but it was etched into his thoughts like a scar that refused to fade.

As he wandered the bustling streets, surrounded by people who seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil within him, Sirius felt the grief and sorrow swell inside him, threatening to spill over. It was a sorrow so deep that it left him feeling empty, as if a part of him had died along with his sister. He was a man haunted by the past, a man who couldn't escape the shadows that clung to him, no matter how hard he tried.

He finally returned home, seeking solace within the familiar walls. But peace was elusive, and the moment he stepped inside, he was confronted by her smiling face, captured forever in a picture on the wall. Her eyes seemed to follow him, taunting him with the life they had lost. He stood there, staring at her image, as a storm of emotions raged within him—anger, sorrow, regret. It was a torment he couldn't escape, a reminder that he was powerless to change the past.

In the stillness of the night, Sirius lay down to sleep, hoping for the temporary reprieve that slumber might bring. But even as his eyes closed, he couldn't shake the thoughts that plagued him. The guilt of not being able to love the triplets gnawed at him, a bitter reminder of yet another way he had failed Réalta. He knew she would never forgive him for that, for letting his hatred for Rhaegar blind him to the innocence of her children. It was a failure that weighed heavily on him, adding to the burden he already carried.

As sleep finally claimed him, Sirius was left alone with his thoughts, trapped in the darkness of his own making. And as the city of King's Landing slumbered peacefully under the moonlight, the shadows of the past closed in around him, ensuring that his torment would never truly end.