@brokenstarters
the sky is pitch, scattered with stars. it's late in the evening, but the castle remains well alive, guards wary, nervous and angry at their stations, the scullery still busy as every night, and somewhere in a tower, the king's council is huddled around a table speaking of war and omens. but most of winterfell's many guests have taken to their chambers, leaving an empty and anxious quiet to settle, across the castle, soft and smothering as fresh snow. she shouldn't be out, knows better than to be, but the upheaval has stirred up a storm within her ; angry, anxious, and hopeful in turns, terrified and yet curious more than anything. a heavy heart, a mind weighed down, not the sort of thing to bring with her to the bedchamber. so instead, jeyne walks the castle walls, half-hidden in shadow and imagines herself a lion, prowling, looking out into the darkness as if through bars of a cage.
it sounds better than the truth, anyway. a lion wouldn’t be hiding out in the cold, too fearful, to restless to retreat to its den. lost in thought, in self-indulgent misery and scheming, she fails to notice another’s presence, until a noise startles her from her reverie. she jumps — a genuine spasm of fear accompanied by a rather undignified yelp — and is immediately, crushingly embarrassed.
“ you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that ! it’s a dangerous venture at the best of times, and besides, it’s rude, ” she blusters, almost scolding, trying to cover her shame with indignation, ignoring the cold fear that still lingers, battering relentlessly at her heart.
