I Exist Alone In Your Bed

Chapter 8- Our Blades are Sharp

Anxiously, Eve dressed and approached the locked door to listen as Ramsay and his men made their way down the hallway towards whatever trouble was brewing. A Greyjoy party had come to the Dreadfort....They must be here for Theon Greyjoy...

She frowned, realizing that they would not find the young lord that had arrived weeks ago, but an unrecognizably traumatized husk of a man. As much as Ramsay enjoyed torturing the broken Greyjoy, she secretly prayed that the man would be saved and returned to whatever family he had...But only the Gods knew if he would ever truly recover from the state Ramsay had impressed upon him...Nobody walked away mentally unscathed by the cruel antics of Ramsay.

Suddenly remembering Ramsay's orders, she turned away from the door to face the bed with a scowl. It seemed that the area beneath the mattress would be the only sufficient hiding place. Why couldn't Ramsay have a large wardrobe in his chambers...Where did he even keep his things? Sighing heavily, she kneeled on the cold stone floor before the raised bed and glanced at the dusty depths underneath. It would be cramped and uncomfortable, but it was the only sufficient hiding place...She stood and made her way towards the first set of flickering tapers which were centered on the wall. One by one, she blew out the orange flames of each candle until the bedchambers were dark, the pale moonlight seeping in from the barred windows illuminating the otherwise dim room. Lying flat on her stomach before the bed, she carefully shuffled underneath until she reached the center of the mattress. With a puff of air she recovered from the painful task and closed her eyes briefly. The stone floor was hard and cold against her clothed ribs and the splintering wooden post above her seemed to sorely snag her mop of hair with every shaky breath. Please return soon, Ramsay.

Opening her eyes to glance at the door, she noticed the distinct yellow line of light seeping in the small crack at the bottom from the torch-lit corridor outside. A series of shadows passed across the thin line of light and she held her breath. She heard what sounded like the clinks of metal armor and more than one set of heavy boots meeting the stone floor before the foreboding shadows came to a stop before the door. Please go away, please go away, pl-

A loud bang interrupted her frantic thought as whatever ominous figures on the other side attempted to force the door open. A frightened gasp escaped her before she clenched her mouth shut, biting her tongue to keep quiet. The forceful banging continued and she remained as silent as possible, quaking underneath the bed as she listened intently to the bolted door bending against the vigorous pressure exerted on it. Watching the door was torture—with every bang, she could see more light invade from the hall outside, the splintering wood preventing coverage from the torches outside. With one final bang, a menacing black boot emerged from a large hole in the entry before an armored arm reached through in search for the bolt. She flinched with tears, holding in her shocked cry as the man's hand found the bolt and the door swung open to reveal four armored men clutching hatchets and various other weapons. Ramsay's company—anything else—was much preferred in this moment. She watched in horror as one of the men sneered and went to retrieve a torch from the hall.

"Would you look at that, men! A lit hallway, leading to a room as black as night! I think we found somethin'..." The man's severely angular face was harshened by the wavering orange torchlight as he led the other three into the room. One of the men, bald and brutish in his uneven gait, titled his thick neck up and sniffed the air heavily before spitting on the floor with a creased brow and a mean scowl.

"These wicks are freshly blown out..." He stepped forward slowly, raising the weapon at his side. Eve remained silent, trembling as his boots drew nearer and nearer until they were right at the foot of the bed. She shivered in quiet, her heart wanting to burst in fear of being found. She was not entirely dim—Ramsay's recent actions had hinted at what depraved men could do to a woman...especially when there was nothing to stop them. She was not naïve enough to think the Gods could help her then—they had never before come to her aid when she had many a times prayed for the death of a certain man who took pleasure in torturing other beings. Yet still, she silently prayed out of habit. A noiseless shudder wracked through her body as the boots remained in place at the foot of the bed.