VALORIA WILDEROSE
I'm back in hell again, burning while being tortured as my family taunts me. All of them laugh above me.
Blazing whips slash against my searing flesh while chains hold me down, reminding me of my weakness, etching it deep within my soul and on my heart.
I cry and beg, but they never stop. No one comes to save me. It never ends.
Until a bright, blinding light appears from above, engulfing me.
My eyes slowly open into a dark, blurry world. The strong smell of antiseptic fills my nose with a single breath, burning my lungs.
I hear muffled chattering and shuffling, figures moving around above me, tending to my wounds. It hurts so much.
Every inch of me that is cut and bruised stings, and my eyes well with tears.
"Don't kill me," I beg, dread flooding me. My body is still in fight-or-flight, yet I can't move. I'm terrified of what might happen now that I'm unable to defend myself.
"Please don't," I plead again.
My hand stretches, reaching for anything, and the first thing within range is a hand I grasp tightly.
It holds me back. Another gently pats the outer part of my hand in a soothing way that finally forces me to relax and breathe.
"It's okay, you're safe now," a soft, gentle voice whispers, her head peeking into my line of vision.
Her voice is serene, filled with concern, and I feel myself relax further, holding tighter to her hand.
"Goddess Selene?" I ask hopefully. Is she here to rescue me again, to take me away from this cruel nightmare, to a place where I can finally rest?
But a fascinated, soft chuckle follows. The slight, almost mocking sound pulls me the rest of the way out of my haze, and my eyes finally focus on her face.
She is beautiful—almost as radiant as the goddess—with the palest, delicate skin and deep black hair, straight as a pin, full and luscious, and perfect bluish-grey eyes.
I flinch the moment I truly see her, suddenly embarrassed. I let go of her hand and pull my entire body away. The sudden movement stabs into my side, and I tremble.
"Relax. I am not an enemy. I'm here to clean your wounds," she soothes gently, offering her hand again, asking for trust.
I don't take it immediately, but I do relax, settling back onto the bed, cautiously offering her my bruised hand.
Something about her gentle, downturned doe eyes makes me believe she's harmless—though I can't really trust my own people-reading skills.
She takes my hand softly, applying some green ointment from a small jar.
The instant cooling effect spreads across the sore spot, and I can't hold back a satisfied sigh.
"Do you like it? I made it myself. I work with herbs and make medicines." She forms a small, contented smile as she talks about her craft.
The smile alone illuminates her already gorgeous, delicate features.
"W-who are you?" I ask, finding a sliver of confidence. All my fears fade, replaced with curiosity and admiration for how easily she shines.
"I am Calliope Demetrios, the second high concubine who sits at His Majesty Azrael's right hand," she explains. "I am in charge of the maids and administration in the palace."
I flinch as his name surfaces, recalling that last wicked grin—and the fact that he'd sent me off to die after mere seconds of meeting him.
Memories rush back: the gorgeous women around him, worn like accessories.
"I—I remember you. You w-were there, watching the fight," I say, specifically recalling her sitting on his lap.
Her smile fades into pity. "It was gruesome."
"Yeah."
I know she means no harm, and yet I can't help the feelings rising in my chest.
I don't want pity, but I'm not strong enough not to rely on it to survive—though it never works. Like the girl from the pit.
I can still feel her warm blood on my hands, see the broken sadness in her eyes as she realized she had lost, whenever I close mine.
"Do not fret, dear… Cersei is alive," Calliope consoles me, as if reading my mind.
I look up in disbelief, searching for a lie, but she seems honest.
"She has been stabilized, so you don't have to be terrified that you killed someone."
I look at her again, grateful, tears welling in my eyes.
"Thank you."
I truly am grateful. Despite my pretense, I didn't know how I'd live with myself thinking I'd killed someone—a girl like me, weak and terrified, just trying not to die.
If I hadn't been so desperate, if I were still the same girl I was before, I really would have died there—gone the moment I stepped into the palace.
It's simply terrifying just thinking about it.
"Is this w-what living in the king's court is like? Fighting to the death?" I ask, holding her gaze with seriousness.
"Not most of the time." She deflects with a sad smile on her lips. "But the most important thing is that you've proven yourself worthy."
"I don't know if that's a good thing anymore." I crouch into a ball once she's done rubbing her balm on my bruises, ignoring the pain in my patched-up side.
"What is your name?" She begins a new conversation to distract me from my new fate.
"V-Valoria. Valoria Wilderose."
"Ah, I know a Wilderose. Your elder sister, Lyra, is a priestess-in-training, is she not? I ran into her in the temple before."
A terrible idea for a change in topic.
I flinch at her name—triggered, but I bury it instantly with a cold response.
"Yes."
Another wave of silence passes between us. I can feel her quietly thinking something new up, but at this point I'm exhausted.
It's been fight after fight for so long… I just want to sleep.
I yawn, giving her a hint she takes quickly.
"Valoria… I hope we can be friends." She clasps my hand between hers, gentle and soft. I feel her warmth emanating through her friendly touch before she pats my head. "Rest now. Let your wounds heal."
She helps me lay back into bed, tucking me in without being asked until I'm comfortable and drowsy.
"Thank you, Calliope."
My vision begins to blur.
I hear her mumble something, but it's barely legible before I pass out again from exhaustion.
I don't know how long I sleep, but I know it's not long enough. I'm still not accustomed to peaceful sleep after millennia of torture.
I groan and toss, trying to summon more sleep, but nothing comes, and I resign myself to my fate, fluttering my eyes open.
The first thing I see are frightening blue eyes and a wicked grin that instantly set me on edge.
I scream loudly, retreating away from the man on my bed—the madman who now owns me—His Majesty Azrael.
"Did you sleep well?" He speaks in his deep, velvety voice that confuses my mind and body every time I hear it.
But from his tone I can tell it's not from a place of concern. He's mocking me.
The game hasn't ended.
My body is high on alert again, shaking from fear, and I make sure never to look away from him, not for a moment, terrified of what he will do next.
"I have a gift for you, to commemorate your first day as my new... toy."
A gift?
Confused, I'm hesitant to believe he's that generous—or to ask.
I know in the pit of my gut that whatever it is, it's bad news.
Before I can tell him that I truly don't need anything, he pulls a bloodied bag from the side of my bed, emptying the contents right onto the sheets.
And out rolls a bloodied head.
Cersei.
Her pale, lifeless eyes stare at me, her lips wide and aghast, showing that her last moments were agonizing.
Her blood paints the white sheets, sinking deep into the fabric in a way that will probably never wash out.
I am speechless and breathless, trembling from fear, guarding my neck from the dread that I will be next.
Perhaps the fight wasn't entertaining enough, or this is the part where he rips my heart out and eats it.
Rather than do any of that, he bursts into a dark, maniacal chuckle—deranged fits of it that solidify my fear of this man, this monster in front of me.
He is every bit as evil as every rumor depicts him, probably more sinister.
I truly might just be screwed.