Charlotte was born a royal, a princess. A Lannister. Through the acts of thievery, she ends up in Winterfell, being raised by Lord and Lady Stark. As Jon Arryn's death has come to pass, King Robert needs a new Hand. Who other than her father, Eddard...
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Charlotte's POV (24 hours prior...)
It's weird how the past always seems to haunt us. We spend every waking moment wishing to change something that could never be possible. Past grudges and anger are held within the depths of our heart. Again, something we can never change. It's almost like a poison, a fatal mindset that forever entails we will never be able to heal.
I found myself wandering back to that abandoned room. I was searching for something, and didn't even know what it was. Answers? Memories? Love? It's so hard to put my feelings into words that will make anyone understand.
I want closure.
I want to love someone with my whole heart.
I want to trust the people I called my family.
I know what I want. I'm just scared of going after it.
This room was just the epitome of everything that I couldn't have. I guess that what made it so appealing, in the sense that I could come in here and not have to fight. Why fight for something you could never have?
I found myself staring at the crib that I slept in so long ago. If I looked closely at the wooden frame, I could see where someone rubbed their hands against the polish so often that it was beginning to disappear. A blanket was laid in the crib, crumbled with age but still beautiful. I found that the gold threads of every piece of clothing I wore, including this blanket, matched the exact color of my hair.
It was a small notion that kept me comforted. I was still the same person that I was sixteen years ago, or at least I was trying my hardest to be.
It was times like these where I wished for the comfort of my mother. She somehow always knew the right words to say, the right amount of affection to ensure that I felt safe. However, the relationship that the two of us shared was like navigating through rose briers. The occasional smooth spot, surrounded by multiple thorns.
One prick and metaphorical blood was shed.
Well, we were going through one of the rough thorny spots. I knew she loved me, but she had a difficult way of showing it.
I picked up a corner piece of blanket, feeling it softly break away from the heavier cloth. I held the cloth piece close to my heart. I will only begin to heal when I let go of past hurts. I let the cloth fall, it landing gracefully amongst the dust particles on the ground.
The first step... making my memory not my enemy.
I turned to leave the room, only to find an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. "Princess Charlotte Baratheon?"
"Who are you?" I ask hesitantly.
He steps forward, a huge glass vase in his hands. "Your worst enemy." He raises the glass vase and brings it down on my head.
