PROLOGUE - Ashes to Ashes
Ring around the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, Ashes,
We all fall down
A young girl hastily ran through the misty fog of the Wolfswood, wearing the rags of a peasant boy and the scabbard of a tiny rapier affectionately known as "Needle" wrapped around her waist. Her breathing was erratic, heaving up and down in a mad swirling rush of adrenaline and fear as mud splashed upon her leather boots. The fog grew denser and thicker as time progressed, the young princess known as Arya Stark occasionally glancing behind her into these haunting woods. Shadowy outlines of silhouettes greeted her vision, eerily stumbling towards the child, dotting the horizon like a mesh of white and black. Suppressing a scream, Arya pushed herself forwards, spotting an faint yet alluring orange light illuminating ahead of her from this ghastly fog. Pushing herself forwards, collapsing and rolling onto the ground from sheer exhaustion as she tumbled out of the Wolfswood, the fierce She-Wolf prompted herself onto her knees, her fearful ash eyes staring at what was before her.
The scent of death, the flare of embers, and the sight of smoke all faded from Arya's senses. Her body went limp, sitting upon her knees a defeated soul. Quivering breath and trembling soul, the wolfish child briefly glanced behind her, spotting the shadowy, abyssal abominations still stumbling slowly towards her as if they were shambling corpses of faceless men and women. Gently facing ahead at the horror that was the ruins before her, Arya unsheathed Needle, letting it lay snugly upon her lap. Memories of a peaceful yore flashed through her mind, the youngest Stark daughter unable to keep her dignity together as tears streamed down her cheek.
Ring around the rosie
What do you suppose
We can do
To fight the darkness
In which we drown.
Sorrow and unsung grief became fury and hollowness. The girl clenched the hilt of Needle tightly, feeling the skin of her hands dig into the strung leather. Striking the earth with the rapier, her entire body consumed by rage, the youngest Stark daughter couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. Soon, that giggle evolved into a chuckle, into a laugh, and finally, into the maniacally, crazed mesh of both laughing and weeping that Arya endured, falling onto her back. Staring up into the skies, the shadowy, abyssal figures surrounded her, feeling a thousand hands pull and tug at the shell of her body, the pain escaping her senses as her world corroded into nothingness
Ring a͏r̡̐̿̌o̓ͫ̈́҉u̅ͥ̃n̎̈́ͧͤͥ͆d̶̋ the rosie
This evil thing it h̩̹a̦̭̪u̯͖̮n̼̦͉͖͔̕ts me.
L͕͉͚̞ͅO̶̘̳S̫̦̘̝̀T͈̝ ̷O͉̙̙̠̺̠͘N̺̯̰̼͓͎E̱͍͚̙͈S͍̮̖̦̻͍̦ S̹̝̰̘̺̜U̘̟̺͇͔͘RR̴̻̜̫ͅǪ̮̮UN̬D̦̪͓ ͍̥̥͞ͅM̱̲̼E̴̤̹̱
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"I can't fall down"
Arya sat alone downstairs at the buffet, no food before, just her arms propped on the table and the hauntingly disturbing words escaping the troubled child's lips.