𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - trust in me i will rise (through the fire, in the sky)
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 but for the soft, wet sounds of blood dripping onto the undergrowth. Alicent didn't mind the quiet. Silence had never unnerved her. It had never made her hesitate. The weight in her arms shifted—a body, limp and cooling. She adjusted her grip, careful not to let the blood soak too much into her leathers.
The Weaver would eat well tonight. The path to her cottage wound deep into the woods, far from the prying eyes of from any road or village, where even the foolish and the desperate knew better than to tread. Not that anyone dared follow her out here. Not unless they had a death wish.
Her breath curled in the cold air as she stepped over an exposed root, moving with the ease of someone who had walked this path a hundred times before. She had.
She had been coming here for centuries. The Weaver's home was just ahead, hidden among the gnarled trees. A crooked cottage with sagging roof and weathered walls covered in mood. Alicent didn't bother to knock. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, dragging the body behind her. The scent of dust and something rotting filled her nostrils, as she let the body drop. A wet, meaty sound. No ceremony, no hesitation. Just flesh meeting the floorboards.
The crone didn't look up at first. Just sat there, gnarled fingers curling against the arms of her chair. Breathing in, like she was tasting the blood before she even saw it. "You brought me something." The she hummed, standing up.
Alicent didn't bother answering. She only kicked the corpse an inch closer, watched the Weaver's lips pull back over yellowed teeth.
She watched as the woman crouched beside the corpse, her long fingers brushing over the cooling flesh. Then—sharp teeth, sinking into skin. She moved faster than most would believe possible, falling upon the corpse with a hungry, wet sound. Skin split beneath her fingers, bones cracked under her teeth.
A wet, tearing sound. Alicent didn't flinch. She had seen worse. Had done worse. "You were hungry." She turned, walking to the small, dust-covered table by the hearth. The book was still there—untouched since her last visit. She ran a finger over the cracked spine, not sparing the her a glance
Behind her, the Weaver ate. "Why are you here, little thing?" she asked between bites.
Alicent kept her eyes on the book. "To feed you."
A breath of laughter. "You always were a good girl."
She was silent. The Weaver didn't need to know why she had really come. That tomorrow, she would be gone. That she would leave Hewn City behind. And that for the first time in centuries— She didn't know if she would ever return. And still, the Weaver spoke between bites. "You are quiet tonight"
