SEQUEL TO POPPY
❝ The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of Earth. Darkness will be your cloak. Your shield. Your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong. ❞
GAME OF THRONES - SEASON 4-7
THE POPPY SAGA - 3
THE MOR...
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The wind screamed like a banshee, slapping Hermione against her exposed skin as her eyes tried to see past the heavy veil of snow. "Hello, is there anybody there?" she called out both hopeful and fearsomely. Lifting her right foot, she dragged herself one step further. Fighting against the elements that pushed her back.
Hermione had no idea where she was going, nor who she was looking for. What she did know was her legs wouldn't make it longer through the spiteful cold clawing at her skin. One step at a time, the snow crunched beneath her feet, she was desperate for warmth.
"Hello?" she cried again. "Is there—"
At first, she thought it was her imagination. Time here seemed pointless so there was no telling how long she'd been in this blizzard. Yet, something told her that the silhouette she had witnessed was exactly what she was and shouldn't be looking for.
"Hello?" Hermione screamed again, the wind carrying her voice off with it. "Jon?"
With newfound strength, Hermione plundered onward. Her legs shaking as they dug into the snow at a quickened pace expending her energy with more vigor. "Jon? Jon!" The wind, smashing into Hermione's fragile body, was desperate in its attempts to break her bones.
She took another step forward, but found, this time, as soon as she lifted her foot, her balance was gone. Hands taking the brunt of her fall, Hermione's attempts to get back up failed and the only thing she could think to do was curl up. "Please," she whispered hoping the wind had been carrying her voice in the direction of whoever she had seen. "Please help me."
Peaking up, she saw the silhouette had not made a single attempt to reach her. It seemed even more distant than before.
Breathing ragged, Hermione's fist curled into themselves as she clenched her eyes shut. She didn't know what kind of place this was, but she no longer wanted to be here. "Please," she cried desperately. "Please take me away. Please, please... Please!"
Suddenly, the banshee screams of wind had silenced, and slowly, Hermione's eyes peeled open to meet a familiar glossy, marble flooring. The intricate patterns had been something she had once spend eons tracing in her girlhood lost in the world of the books her mother and septa would read to her.
