WELL FLAYED [Game Of Thrones: The Boltons]

14. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

MIR WAS PLAYING WITH A BALL OF YARN on the table near the open window. Her silver feathers rustling with her every move. Her crystal blue eyes were focused as she clawed the yarn. With a few more scratching and pulling, the yarn got tangled with her talons. She made a shrill sound of panic which caught Nisha's attention away from her stitching something on a small hooped frame.

"Oh, Mir!" She chuckled at her owl that seemed to be drowning in a sea of purple yarn. "It's alright. Come here..."

Her hands worked to straighten the knots, and then just in a short notice, Mir was free again. Hoot-hoot! The owl yelped in glee, then as her gratitude, she jumped on Nisha's shoulder to snuggle on the side of her neck.

Her feathers tickled her, making Nisha giggle. "Oh, Mir!" Her hands rubbed Mir's back and the owl cooed. "I love you Mir. I love you like a mother love her children."

She was Ramsay's gift to her. But to her, it seemed like he had given her a child of her own. Mir wasn't just a pet to her, she became family. Now she wondered, would Ramsay be a father to her? A good father? She couldn't see it. The two of them had no connection.

Mir would always get on guard around Ramsay. She would often condense her feathers and glare her eyes to intimidate. Because for some reason she couldn't figure out yet, Mir disliked Ramsay. She only could see him as a predator in her territory that needed to be shooed. And whenever Nisha was with him, Mir would become overprotective that she wouldn't let him close to her. Nisha had to put her in her cage everytime to her calm down.

"Why don't you love Ramsay?" She murmured as she continuously rubbed Mir's head in a gracious manner. "He's been hospitable, he's been benevolent, yet you still refuse to accept him."

The owl was now playing with her hair, not giving a care to what she's saying at all.

"Is it because he had captured you from the comfort of the forest? You didn't have to hate him. He didn't force you to stay in a cage. You're always free to go." Nisha blankly stared at the open window, watching the vast plain of white come alive beyond the castle walls. "He is kind that way, and that is why I don't quiet understand why you don't love him." She return her gaze at her owl. Mir was more focused on playfully clipping her locks with her yellow beak, still not listening to a word that she said. "I wish I could be unbothered like you. Because what you're feeling toward him is what he's feeling toward me. It seems like he doesn't love me at all."

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LAST NIGHT WAS STARTLING. Although Mighar somehow found his way back to his chamber, he lied awake the whole night. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of the servant girl stepping out of the tub unabashedly toward him haunted his mind. He couldn't forget her beautiful face, her long neck, her voluptuous breasts, her slim waist, and what's between her milky thighs that seemed to invite him to ruins. He could still remember how the poorly lit candles set aglow her pale skin, making her gleam like the moon.

Myranda. His mind whispered. Her name was carved now in his head. How could a beautiful lady ended up as a servant in this cursed castle? It was the question he constantly asked to himself. The gods must be so harsh and unfair.

After eating the meal for the morning that the servant served in his chamber, he readied himself for the day and trudged outside the halls. He was hoping to see Myranda serve his food together with the other servants, but she did not make an appearance, not even around the Dreadfort. It was as if what he had seen last night was only the ghost of her. This made him frustrated and confused at the same time.

Sighing, he turned his heel toward the direction of his cousin's chamber. He knocked on the wooden threshold and when he heard her tiny voice permitting him to come in, Mighar entered.