the beast you've made of me l jeyne westerling, (robb)/jeyne [1/2]cassiehayesOctober 30 2011, 02:57:15 UTC
Helloooo! So this is coming like a month after you posted this and idk if this free-for-all is still active, really, buuut I was going through some docs and remembered a few things I'd started and never finished and somehow COMPLETELY forgotten, lol, and this was one of them! So I finished it up, and errrr, yeah! Idk if it's what you had in mind but I hope it works, so here you go:
She's never used a dagger before, and she has to curl her fingers tightly around the handle so they don't shake and drop it.
Be fierce like a wolf, she thinks-- and exhales. The words bring more bitterness than relief, a deep ache that twists inside her, twists until she feels it might turn her inside-out. Fierce like a wolf, he'd told her, his voice solemn even as his eyes betrayed a private amusement. Keep your head up even when you're nervous, be still instead of shaking when you're scared, and they'll never tell. He'd brushed his fingers against her cheek, and she'd thought how lucky she was that it was always easy to find the fondness in Robb - in
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the beast you've made of me l jeyne westerling, (robb)/jeyne [2/2]cassiehayesOctober 30 2011, 02:58:32 UTC
I would have been a mother, she thinks, and imagines a child as she stalks quietly down the hall. She imagines a little boy, with tufts of hair on his head and a smile that would stretch across his face. Mother, she thinks again as she comes to a door, and her own mouth twists savagely, distorted by all the rage and grief that has hollowed her out.
She pushes the door open, and tries to keep her feet light on the rushes that cover the floor. She is shaking and even Robb's voice in her head cannot still her. She is thinking of a crown ripped from her head, a hand that offered her poison and proclaimed it to be nourishing. Fierce like a wolf. Fierce for Robb. Fierce for your son that never was.She hates this woman more than she hated the man she already killed, but her hands are shaking so terribly and she suddenly doubts that she has the strength to force the dagger through the flesh, because surely more strength is required when it is your own mother's jugular
( ... )
She's never used a dagger before, and she has to curl her fingers tightly around the handle so they don't shake and drop it.
Be fierce like a wolf, she thinks-- and exhales. The words bring more bitterness than relief, a deep ache that twists inside her, twists until she feels it might turn her inside-out. Fierce like a wolf, he'd told her, his voice solemn even as his eyes betrayed a private amusement. Keep your head up even when you're nervous, be still instead of shaking when you're scared, and they'll never tell. He'd brushed his fingers against her cheek, and she'd thought how lucky she was that it was always easy to find the fondness in Robb - in ( ... )
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She pushes the door open, and tries to keep her feet light on the rushes that cover the floor. She is shaking and even Robb's voice in her head cannot still her. She is thinking of a crown ripped from her head, a hand that offered her poison and proclaimed it to be nourishing. Fierce like a wolf. Fierce for Robb. Fierce for your son that never was.She hates this woman more than she hated the man she already killed, but her hands are shaking so terribly and she suddenly doubts that she has the strength to force the dagger through the flesh, because surely more strength is required when it is your own mother's jugular ( ... )
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