I exist alone on your bed

Chapter 11 - Where Are You Now?

The Northern winds blew strong and all was well in Winterfell...That was what Eve wanted to say about the icy walls of her new "home". True, the sight of Winterfell was a beautiful one indeed...But its muted beauty was harshly suffocated by the blood which had been spilt within its Northern walls. The Boltons seemed to taint everything with an undeniable mark of severity—and solemn Winterfell was no exception. Eve shivered, tightly hugging the thick furs of the counterpane around her chilled body. The Dreadfort had been cold, but Winterfell was impossibly colder.

The bedchambers in which Eve lay were nearly empty, only the sounds of howling wind and the crackling fireplace to keep her company. It had been a day and two nights since she had last seen Ramsay. Her fever had been quelled, but the haunting traces of that ominous dream still lingered in her mind. It deeply troubled her, but there was not a soul she could confide in. There was just Ramsay—the only and last person of which she'd ever voice such matters. If she spoke her fears to Ramsay, he would certainly only find amusement in such worthless and childish beliefs of premonition. Perhaps he would even ridicule her for being insecure. Or worse—he would be furious that a meager dream could so swiftly weaken her faith in him. Eve groaned in frustration before springing out of the bed. I have to get out of these chambers before I go mad. Ramsay or no Ramsay, she desperately needed fresh air to clear her head.

Eve's bare feet met the cold stone of the floor, her toes recoiling at the sudden contact. Winterfell—the name was more than well-suited to the climate. Stifling a series of squeals at the icy sensation beneath her feet, Eve quickly shuffled over to the end of the bed where a pair of boots and a furred coat lay. Practically jumping onto the foot of the bed, Eve smiled in relief as her poor feet were saved from the frozen touch of the stone floor.

It vaguely reminded her of a game she and Ramsay would play as children. In the Winter months, Ramsay would take her into the forests around the Dreadfort to play near the many frozen streams. With his chilling blue gaze, Ramsay would take a small stone and throw it onto the frozen waters. Then he would force her to part from her boots and brace the ice barefoot to retrieve it—like a hound fetching a stick. The ice had always been thin, and her chubby feet would often break through and fall into the shallow yet freezing water below. Ramsay would observe the spectacle, laughing and urging her forward in amusement as her younger self squeaked and ungracefully scurried across the perilous waters. By the time she would bring the stone back to him, her feet would be puffy and red, but never quite frostbitten— for Ramsay never threw the stone very far...

In the end, Ramsay would take the stone from her, patting her head and praising her with a kiss on the forehead or round red cheek... only before throwing it once more onto the frozen stream in laughter. Eve frowned, reminding herself that it was never truly a child's game...but just another one of Ramsay's cruel delights. Eve was well aware of Ramsay's cruel tendencies...but there was a pathetic solace in the simple truth that he had always been cautious not to cause her any long-lasting or severe bodily harm.

She never truly had to retrieve those stones for Ramsay. At first she had done so out of pure fear of the malicious boy...But immediately after each game came to an end, she always sat eating hot stew and her favorite honey cakes as Ramsay gingerly treated her feet by the fire. And when her feet grew blissfully warm, Ramsay would reward her with another honey cake before leaving her with a warm kiss on the cheek for the rest of the day. No, she never had to fetch those stones that Ramsay had thrown...but she had wanted to...

The frown grew on Eve's face as she realized just how pathetic she seemed. Had Ramsay always seen her as such a pitiful creature? Shaking her head to rid her thoughts of Ramsay, Eve quickly made towards the door. She needed to get out of this place. Away from the Boltons—away from her endless thoughts of Ramsay.