Throne of Blood and Ice {ON HOLD}

Episode 1

HEY GUYS THIS IS THE FIRST OFFICIAL CHAPTER OF " THRONE OF BLOOD AND ICE " HOPE YOU ENJOY. REMEMBER TO COMMENT AND VOTE.

Episode 1

Anealay Quilorthes sat on the wooden bench drenched in darkness, the angry red marks on her back protested in pain as the caravan bounced up and down on the rocky road. She bit down on her tongue from screaming in pain as the van jolted and she was thrown against the floor. Her arms were weak and frail, barely supporting her weight while she pushed herself up against the back of the van. Leaning against it and panting, her breath coming out in foggy puffs in front of her face.

The assassin had lost count of how many days she had spent in the back of this very caravan, always drenched in darkness. Whoever was in charge of this caravan would always leave a piece of dry bread and almonds when she was sleeping but today there was no sign of food. The gurgling of her stomach didn't help ease the pain of not having to eat today, but it only made it worse by reminding her.

She shivered, the ragged dress she wore barely reached her knees and didn't help at all to keep the cold out. The arms were nothing more than two slits on either side of the dress, not providing her arms any refuge from the icy coldness of the harsh winter.

The assassin slid down onto the floor, curling up into a ball with her side pressed against the wall to give her back a break. Iron chains pressed against the raw skin on her ankles and wrists. The chains created a sort of web, starting at her neck, attached to the choker around it and then extending to her ankles and wrists which were also wrapped in iron cuffs.

She hissed in pain at the contact of the cold metal against her tender raw skin and decided against moving too much. The first few days when she was shoved into the back of the wooden caravan she had ended up clawing and almost killing six guards before they were able to sedate her and get into the caravan.

The frozen wood floor beneath the assassin's small figure jabbed against her bruised and bare skin, making her curl up more into the corner of the van. Her arms wrapped around herself and her sickly white legs colored in with painful red slashes along with purplish blue bruises were drawn into her figure. Trying to keep the very little heat emitting from her body to herself.

Slowly the lids on her eyes, drowned by sleep fell down and she herself was forced back into oblivion. The only place where she could find the tiny little shred of peace, happiness, and freedom she wanted so much. Ever since that day nine years ago.

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Light infiltrated her little cocoon bringing her back to reality, away from the comforting darkness of sleep and dreams.  The harshness of winter was the first thing greeted her as she woke up from her slumber, shivering against the sharp sting of that the cold wind brought with it.

Multiple pairs of hands, all in the same uniform of black gloves latched onto the pale skin on her forearms. The assassin hissed in pain, snarling at the two closest guards that flanked the left and right side of her body. Carelessly dragging her from the comfort of her little corner and outside into a foreign environment.

The cold northern wind brushed slightly against her skin, calling, beaconing her to come and play with it. To let it show her the feel of the sky, of the wind and of freedom, but the freedom she desired was not with the cursed magic and nor with the blood that flowed in her veins. But rather with the person, she chose to be and could be forever without any problems.

The caravan had stopped before an iron gate, open for them yet whoever still closed to her. Behind it stood a house, but the world castle would suit it better. It loomed over them, the dull gray stone bricks stood out against the first snowfall of winter. A clash of gray, brilliant white and the only other color, a crimson red from the guard's uniforms was the only thing in sight.