#( in character: lenora wyck. )

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: "i've killed before, and i'll kill again." norarams modern? serial killer au?

She did not care. She had seen people be killed, strangers and acquaintances alike. It hardly bothered her, but then again she was never the one delivering the killing blow. Lenora did not need to be the one doing the act when she had the means to pay someone else to do it. Perhaps if she held a knife in her own hands and plunged it into someone, she would feel differently.

"That was an answer to a question I did not ask." Scarred fingertips danced up Ramsay's arm, feigning gentleness until she reached his neck. Her hand was briefly planted around his neck, even giving it a small squeeze --- not too tight. It was like she was checking the ripeness of an apricot. "Will you kill for me?"

Brown eyes widened, unwavering as she stared into a sea of blue. Her gaze alone demanded the answer to her question as her fingertips began idly moving toward dark hair like a sneaking spider in the night. Impulsively, she yanked on the locks, clearly using much more force than she had against his neck. "If I were to point at someone on the street, would you kill them for me? No questions asked?"

Her words were near a hiss, yet they hinted at desperation. She needed to hear him say yes like the way she needed air for her lungs. Lenora's grip on his hair, like her gaze, did not tremble. She stood like a towering rock against the shoreline, unbothered by the storm raging, as she tugged him closer. Their noses almost touched.

"Would you ever kill me?"

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

Starter for @librarywent

Spindly fingers were clasped behind her back while heeled shoes clopped against the stone floors of the Dreadfort, echoing and making her presence known. Whereas Searchlight had always been bright and warm, thanks to the countless candles and hearths scattered throughout her family's seat, this castle was bone-chillingly cold. It was as though servants purposefully kept the fires hardly alive. She did not mind, though. The whipping winds from the Bay of Ice mixed with the storms from the Wolfswood made her used to chilled air.

"What shall I call you? Lord Father or simply Lord Bolton?" she asked, her tone light and relaxed, as if she were thinking out loud and not truly expecting a response. Like a ghost, she drifted around the chair so that she was planted between a hearth and the man, forcing him to acknowledge her presence. "I hear Lady Walda is with child."

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: “You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”

"And yet, here a king stands before me," she murmured, lazily bringing her drink to her lips. Dark eyes did not waver and persistently bore into his own as she drank. Once empty, the cup was pulled from her lips and haphazardly sat on a neighboring wooden table. Her tongue jutted out from her mouth to lick her lips, as if she were savoring any wine that might remain on them, before returning her full attention to the man before her.

"Will you fall to your knees for me? Or shall I call you a liar?"

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

@librarywent asked: A last dance before the feast. norarams?

She eyed him silently, goblet gripped in her hand as though it were welded to her palm. Her eyes flickered over his frame, his elegant doublet. Ramsay did not look himself outside of typical dark leather clothing --- hunting wear, Lenora often unaffectionately referred to it as. It was as though he were a different man, despite holding the same aura of sinisterness she was so attached to.

"You know how to dance?" The question held an air of disbelief about it, a thin eyebrow even arching when it was spoken. A quick drink was taken from her cup before it was placed atop the walnut-colored table. She observed him for a few more moments before reaching out for a hand before she pushed herself up from the chair. "Don't step on my feet or gown."

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

@librarywent asked: who’s side are you on? norarams fight? 👀

"I am on my side!" she shrieked, the veins in her neck bulging angry and red as if they were near popping. The jewel-encrusted goblet smashed against the rough grey walls of their room, gold chunks and hunks of rubies flying about and clattering against the floor. The goblet rolled awkwardly against the now wine-coated stone before the newly created dent halted its movement.

Someone had to be on her side. Everyone had always been against her, even those who had shared a womb with her. The bodice of her gown felt too tight suddenly, chest heaving as though she had just run from a pack of beasts in the Wolfswood. The red in her neck was disappearing, giving the false message that her rage had begun to subside. Instead, perhaps because of the Arbor gold in her belly, Lenora now felt it in her head. It thumped like a war drum, screaming at her to attack the man before her.

"Does stepping on my neck make you feel taller?" There was an odd air about her now, like the calm before a terrible storm. Her head lulled to the side, eyes drifting shut while a hand blindly searched for a new cup to dump Arbor gold into. She knocked a few spare ones onto the floor during her search, not reacting when they all clanged and clattered. When it came time to pour, her eyes reopened and she could feel her head still pounding fiercely.

She took several sips from her cup, the back of her hand wiping her lips and slightly smearing the paint upon her lips. Brown eyes flickered up and down his form, desperately searching for an imperfection, something to fuel her anger. A deep breath was taken, the tightness of her bodice from earlier nearly gone but not the ache in her skull. The cup was abandoned haphazardly on the table, a part of its base hanging from the edge, before she began drifting away.

After a few steps, she stopped, swaying ever-so-slightly. She peeped over her shoulder to see if Ramsay was still near. She licked her lips slightly, eyeing him somehow angrily and impishly. "Your bastard blood poisons you," she spoke, hoping her words elicited a response. She had spent the last few moments deciding on what to insult, but she decided to use the word that angered him the most.

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

@librarywent asked: ❝ i am yours and you are mine. ❞ noRARAMS

Dark eyes peered upward into blue ones as she felt fingers working at the base of her neck to release the maiden cloak. The snow beneath her knees and boots was fresh and crunchy, making sounds at the slightest of movements. The white-coated godswood was an unfamiliar site to Lenora as the one in Searchlight never saw so much snow. It was nearly always green or gray, at least until the dead of winter.

"I am yours and you are mine," she repeated, knowing their words were untraditional. When she felt the new cloak draped upon her shoulders and clasped firmly, she pushed herself up from the snowy floor, a hand reaching out to the man so that her footing was secure against the new snow. Briefly, her eyes flickered towards the weirwood, feeling under scrutiny because of its gaze. Did the tree think she lied about her devotion?

She fixated her eyes upon the man beside her again, blue and brown boring into each other, almost as if they were the only two people in the godswood, even the universe. A hand slipped free from fur to reach out towards Ramsay's hair, gently brushing a few speckles of white free from black hair before resting digits against his cheek. Though on the outside they appeared affectionate, almost like any other happily wedded couple in the continent, their unity meant something more sinister. They were a song of ice and fire, after all.

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

She had to fight the desire to spit out a name like it was rotten food upon her tongue. Lenora did her best to not seem too eager or desperate for results or action. Ramsay surely would have caught it and teased her. She did not need those jests when her thoughts were already spiraling. She's prettier than me. She's smarter than me. She's stronger than me. He'll love her more than me. He will kill me and have her replace me. Lenora needed that woman out of this world. That was the only way to stop the thoughts, to secure her spot at his side and in life. Perhaps it was a facade, the way her affections towards Joe had been, but Lenora wanted to squash an possibilities. Men were not loyal the way women were. Their eyes and hands wandered frequently.

"Love," she hissed, her forehead touching his and her hands planted tightly on the side of his head. Fiery and icy eyes bore into each other as her nails clawed at his scalp. "I want her killed, Ramsay." Though she had initially started her request strong, her request eventually shrank into a soft plea. Her claws loosened their grasp on his head, pulling him into a kiss, one that was shockingly gentle. It was her way of silencing him so that he could not ask why or what the other woman did to upset her so much.

"I want to watch it happen."

The flicker of a smirk dances upon crimson lips, tugging at his cheeks every so slightly as her grip tightened. His own fingers itched as he eyed her, watching carefully, perhaps curiously, to see what her next move might be. There was no knowing with Nora. She was unpredictable. Perhaps that's why he loved her so much. Sure, he had met those who managed to capture and even hold his attention, but Ramsay would always be reactionary and ruthless and it was rare for anyone to survive rejecting him. He was still, save for his gaze — and his hastening heartbeat — as his lover's touch trailed from his throat to his hair. When she tugs, he moves with her, grinning with a grunt before pulling away with the same gusto, tearing his head away from her grip. "No questions asked?" His brows raise, his smirk grows. "You know that's hardly my style." Ramsay purred, pressing his words against her neck with the warmth of hot breath. Ramsay's deft digits climb into her golden locks, dancing between and beneath the silky strands before digging into her scalp. His mouth lingers at her ear, "Say the name, Lenora, my love, and consider it done." He promised, tilting her chin to him so he could seal his declaration with a kiss.

[pyrinas]

"Yes," she huffed quickly, unable to hide the flicker of her eyes rolling as she spoke. "Perhaps I will grant you a grandsire soon." She understood that it was her duty to bear a child, though one she did not think of fondly as some other ladies might. Still, she told herself someday, just not anytime soon. "Perhaps one even grows in my own womb this very moment. Uncle and nephew may grow together." She spoke those words with ease as if she did not seek out moon tea every morning to exterminate any babe that began to take root.

Hands still behind her back, she took a step closer, her dark eyes never drifting from the Leech Lord. “Women talk,” Lenora simply admitted with a small shrug, not too keen on the idea of burning any sources. She was a stranger in a strange castle, after all. "You called it a story... Did you not know, Father? Or did I spoil a supper surprise?"

His castle was kept as cold as his heart; with the chilled, airy stone walls, anything uttered above a whisper might ricochet and reveal itself. Roose Bolton was known for his soft voice. And the fact that men quieted themselves to hear his words, so seldom granted. Speaking of secrets . . . "We are family now; bonded in blood, and soon, I hope, a child. To consider me your father would be an honor." Thin lips contort into a performative smile. How ironic, how easily a grin was given to her, given the lack of emotion — aside from annoyance — he had ever bestowed upon his bastard, now newly appointed heir. Eyes of ice drift drift calmly across frigid waters, before falling upon her. "Is that so?" He responds easily, disinterest evident in his demeanor. "Any who, pray tell, did you hear such stories from?" The Leech Lord's mien mirrored her own, speaking as if he were merely musing aloud. "I did not take you to be a naive woman."