Since her brother had left, Morganna had felt on edge.

She wrote to their mother, as Ren had asked her to, telling her that he was coming north. She also spoke of her uncle's injury, and the circumstances in which it happened. Lord Stark took six days and seven nights to wake up, once the Maester lowered his dosage of milk of the poppy. Morganna thought then that they would soon all be leaving for Winterfell, as Ren had said they would be, but her uncle was now Hand of the King once again. Robert apparently didn't hold a grudge towards his old friend for long, nor, by the looks of things, did he wait around for the man to get better, going hunting the very morning after reinstating his Hand.

Her uncle summoned her, Sansa and Arya to his solar, explaining that they were soon going to be travelling back north by sea. This confused Morganna; why would they be leaving if he was still Hand? She was also rather annoyed, as although she missed her family in Winterfell and the Dreadfort, she liked being in King's Landing, and would miss Myrcella when she was gone. Arya seemed pleased by the decision once her father assured her that she could bring her dancing master with her. Sansa on the other hand, was furious. Somewhere in between her protests and whining about wanting to marry Joffrey, her father seemed to come to some sort of realisation and cut her off, sending them all away without explanation.

But then the King's party returned early, and it was not the triumphant return that was expected, despite the enormous dead boar that was carried between two horses. Morganna didn't find out until later that day that the King was dying. He had received a mortal wound fighting the boar, her uncle explained, and would be dead by morning. The three of them would be leaving at noon the next day, by ship, so to finish any packing they might have and be ready to go on time.

The morning of their departure, Arya begged her father to let her have a final dancing lesson before they left, and Lord Stark gave her permission. Though when Sansa asked to go and see Joffrey one last time, her father refused, even when Septa Mordane offered to escort her. Sansa ran weeping to her chambers, of course, and Morganna decided against asking to see Myrcella; she had seen her the day before, and the girl was likely grieving her father with her family. Morganna wasn't particularly good at comforting people, nor did she enjoy it.

She wasn't even sure if she'd grieve her own father's death or not. Lord Bolton had never been a father like her uncle was to his children. Her mother was never particularly warm - hardly the type to sing her or her siblings to sleep, or fuss over them when they fell over and grazed a knee - but she did give good hugs, and some of Morganna's happiest childhood memories were learning to ride with her mother, galloping across the moors surrounding the Dreadfort beside her. Her mother seemed far more relaxed the further away they got from the castle, smiling more freely and letting a slightly less restrained side of her show.

She wondered what her mother would do now. Something strange was definitely going on, or they wouldn't be going back north at all. Her mother would know more about what was going on if she was here, and she could actually do something about it, too. Even if Morganna knew what was happening (no one would tell her), even if she knew what she needed to do (she did not), no one would listen to her, because she was twelve years old.

With Sansa and Arya both gone, Morganna was the only family member present downstairs when Grand Maester Pycelle arrived to inform her uncle that the King was dead. Lord Stark insisted on calling a small council meeting in the Tower of the Hand, sending Morganna away. She went up to her chambers, looking in on Sansa, only to see that her cousin wasn't there. She must've snuck away whilst everyone was distracted. Morganna was amused at the thought of her well-behaved cousin misbehaving in such a way. Sansa was inexperienced in such things as sneaking, and would likely be caught and sent back soon. Morganna wanted to be there to laugh at her surely-tearful apologies.

So she waited there in the tower, playing the good girl for once. She heard her uncle and some of the men downstairs leaving the tower. Sansa still hadn't returned, which was odd, and Arya wasn't due back for half an hour. She vaguely considered using the terrifying secret passage she'd found behind the fireplace in her chambers to sneak out just for the hell of it - which was what she'd done to go and see Ren when she was meant to be in bed - but she was lucky last time to have brought a candle and not gotten lost down there, or fallen and broken her neck. She glanced out the window. The Lannister guards were no longer out in the yard training. They were normally there until midday.

Then the shouting started, soon followed by the sound of steel on steel.

"What the - " Morganna ran to the window - Arya's room was above the entrance - looking down and seeing the tower surrounded by red-cloaked Lannister guardsmen. Not only that, they were fighting the Stark men that guarded the entrance. They can't do that!

But they were. Something was badly wrong. They were killing them, guards that she knew, who had come the whole way down from Winterfell with them. Morganna had never seen anyone die like this before, in a heated, vicious battle, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she was deathly afraid. Ren had made it seem like something bad was going to happen, had seemed convinced the girls would be sent away before it did.

Someone was hammering on the door at the base of the tower. Morganna ran back to her own chambers and slammed the door shut, pulling the bolt, then dragging the desk over for good measure. She didn't know what to do. The main door to the tower sounded like it had shattered, and the fighting was inside now, men shouting and screaming and dying. Where was her uncle? Where were Sansa and Arya? They couldn't kill them, it would start a war.

Though they had killed her mother's brother and father, years ago. It had started a war, but they were dead regardless. What was stopping them, truly, from killing Morganna? Or, worse... she had seen the scars on her mother's skin. No, she would not let that happen to her, this was exactly what she had warned her of.

Then she remembered. The fireplace.

Morganna ran without a second thought, as the sounds of clashing steel were getting closer, Stark men getting backed up the stairs. Shoving a candle and tinder box into her dress pocket, along with the knife Ren had given her, she tore her fingernails and scraped her skin scrabbling at the loose stone, but got it loose and climbed into the dark, tiny hole in the wall. Balanced on the rickety ladder that groaned under her weight, she pulled the stone back in place over her head. The narrow shaft she was in was full of cobwebs and dust, which she forced herself not to think about, hurrying down the ladder as fast as she could, navigating by touch alone in complete darkness.

Last time had been sufficiently terrifying that even Morganna, the most reckless and adventurous of all her siblings and cousins, had been scared, and that had been with a candle. This was pitch blackness, climbing down an ancient ladder into the gloom, feeling carefully with her foot to see if the rungs were broken below her. The one good thing about the tight space and perilous climb was that no man could ever hope to follow them that way, although Morganna suspected this passage linked up to several other fireplaces in the tower, including the Hand's chambers. Last time, she had seen where it joined other similarly tiny passageways.

She tried not to make a sound, even when her foot went through a rotten rung of the ladder and she bit through her lip trying not to squeal in fright, clinging on to the ones that were still intact. The walls were thick, but not that thick, and Morganna could still hear shouting and the moans of dying men from the other side. She thought of Jory, still wrapped up in bandages in bed. She bet they killed him as well. Bastards. Her stomach felt like jelly, her entire body was shaking, and it was a miracle she did not fall and break her neck.

And then, finally, her foot made contact with the ledge she had found last time.

It was a relief to have her feet on something resembling solid ground. Unsteady hands reached for the tinderbox and candle in her skirts, managing to light it after a few tries. In a way, it was worse being able to see. It seemed a lot more real, looking at her scraped, bloodied hands, covered in dirt and cobwebs.

The ladder must have taken her under the tower, for she could now walk along rather than climb, and she walked for much further than the walls would extend. Morganna hurried along the passage - if she took her time, she would sink to the floor and cry - until she reached the trapdoor she had used last time. She paused before climbing out, taking off her jewellery, and slipping it into her pocket. Her dress was fairly plain, considering they were meant to be travelling that day, and was coated in grime anyway, so would not stand out so much.

The trapdoor was near the postern gate, situated in the narrow gap between the stables and the walls, and under a large pile of old straw from the nearby stables, so no one could see her scramble out. Brushing dirty straw smelling strongly of horse manure off of her dress, Morganna peered out from behind the building. She could see all the way across the outer yard, over to the small hall, the Tower of the Hand rising up behind it. Redcloaked Lannister guards, together with the city watch, were fighting the Stark men openly in the courtyard, to the death. She saw two familiar guards cut down even as she looked on; the Lannisters had strength in numbers on their side, and the Starks were clearly losing. Morganna watched as Septa Mordane was dragged across the courtyard, sobbing for the Mother's mercy, by a pair of jeering goldcloaks, and felt a stab of pity for the woman. They wouldn't kill her, surely. She's just a septa.

The full impact of these events was suddenly hitting her now as the initial shock started to wear off. Sansa had left the tower ages ago - Morganna hoped she had the sense to hide, but somehow doubted it - and Arya would hopefully be alright, if she could find her uncle and the rest of the men. But what about her uncle? Where was he? He would hardly stand for slaughter like this... which meant that they had him too. Morganna was not as important as a Stark, but they would not just let her go.

There were guards on the gate, true, but fewer than usual. In the chaos, the guards that were there were not paying much attention. No one would know Morganna was missing, yet. And if she stayed here, she would definitely get caught. She had not climbed down that hateful ladder to get caught now.

Keeping her head down, Morganna managed to slip past them, taking advantage of a group of the remaining Stark guards regrouping and mounting a more organised, but ultimately hopeless, defence. The gate was locked, but the keys had been abandoned on a nearby guard's table, and she snatched them at once, fumbling with the lock. Once she was through, she shut the gate behind her, and she was out of the castle. But now she had to get out of the city.

Morganna did not know King's Landing. The only times she had been in the city was riding down the main straight when they arrived, and when Ren had taken her out drinking. Neither of those times were any help. Not to mention, what in hells would she do if she made it out? Walk to Winterfell? But from the hill on which the Red Keep stood, she could see the docks, and that was where their ship was supposed to leave from. And if it had left already, she could sneak onto another one.

With no other option, she set off in the general direction of the docks. The wind was coming from the river, carrying the stench of saltwater and the fish market, so if she followed her nose...

The streets near the castle were well kept and wealthy, lined with exclusive shops and manses. Further down the hill, the houses became smaller, terraced, though still in good condition. Further on still, it was clear the people who lived here were not wealthy, though this was still better than the slum of Flea Bottom; a blessing, as Morganna did not want to get her throat slit and robbed. Through more luck than anything, Morganna found the Hook road, which led from Aegon's High Hill down to Fishmonger's Square near the Mud Gate, which led to the harbour. She was able to follow it until she saw the gate in sight. A few people looked at her oddly, though she kept to the shadows of the houses with her head down, and they passed her by.

Fishmonger's Square was busy, as it usually was at this time of day, meaning the gate itself was behind a wall of people. Out here, it was as though the slaughter in the castle was not real. Folk were just going about their business on a summer's day. There were more guards by the gate than she suspected was usual, however, which was worrying. The crowd of citizens was starting to realise than no one was being allowed out of the Mud Gate, and the mood was growing more fraught by the minute as fishermen and sea captains alike argued with the goldcloaks.

For a moment, Morganna considered finding another gate, her panic growing. But if this was bad, the others would be too. She would have to try her luck.

One man who looked wealthier than the rest seemed to have bribed his way through. The guards were forcing the rest of the grumbling crowd back, allowing the rich man and his men through, and Morganna tried to slip through with them. She almost made it, too, but then a strong hand closed around her arm and roughly yanked her back.

"Not so fast, Miss," A goldcloak chuckled. "As if a scruffy wretch like you is with the merchant. On your way,"

He let her go, and Morganna was about to count herself lucky and slink back into the crowd, but another goldcloak stepped in front of her.

"Hold on," Another narrowed his eyes at her. "You're a bit too pretty for a city girl, even covered in dirt. And that dress is a bit too nice. What's your name, girl?"

"Alys," She mumbled, taking the name of her mother's maid and trying to hide her highborn Northern accent, eyes cast at the ground.

"You look like you've crawled through a gutter to get here," The man did not seem convinced. "A shame, in such a nice dress. Care to explain?"

"Was robbed,"

"And why are you trying so hard to get through to the harbour?"

"Da works on the boats,"

"Hm," He reached out, grabbing her jaw to tilt her head up to face him.

"Get off me," Morganna snarled, wrenching away, but the damage was done.

"That's a hell of a Northern accent," The goldcloak said, smiling unpleasantly, catching her wrist before she could run. "I saw you, at the Hand's tourney. You were sat with Lord Stark. You his daughter?"

She felt like she was going to be sick. "The Hand?" Morganna was a good liar, she always had been a good liar, so good that only her parents or sister could tell when she wasn't telling the truth. But that had been when the only consequences were a scolding from her mother, or at worst her father's punishments. Her voice shook in a way it never had before. "I'm no lady, I told you, I'm here for my father,"

The man holding her laughed again. "And where is it you live again?"

"River Row,"

"Really?" The guard roughly turned her palm over. "You've got the softest hands I've ever seen on a Blackwater fisherman's daughter,"

Her hand closed around the knife in her pocket. She could stab him in the arm, get him to let her go, and run into the crowd. But there were more than a dozen men here. They knew the city, and she did not. They would catch her in seconds. But Gods, she had to try. Better to put up a fight and fail, than regret doing nothing.

Morganna had no experience using a blade, but she did have the element of surprise. She brought the dagger out from her pocket, clumsily stabbing at the wrist of the man holding her. The knife sank deep into flesh, and the man gave a yell, letting go. And Morganna ran. She shoved and pushed her way through the crowd in Fisherman's Square, ignoring the angry shouts behind her.

A skinny young girl could slip through the crowd easier than a larger person could, but people moved out the way of the armed goldcloaks, clearing a path. She tried to outrun them, but she could hear their voices getting closer and closer. A few had moved around to the way out of the square, cutting off her escape route. The ones pursuing behind her were so close now, and, realising it was hopeless (if she was honest, she'd realised that before), she whirled around with the knife, slashing and stabbing at any of them she could reach. She got a few lucky hits in; one of them in the eye, and another one in the wrist, but a heavy blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling to the dirty ground with a cry, her head an explosion of pain.

"That's not Stark's daughter," She heard a voice say above her. It sounded distant, muffled, and all she could do was lie there with her face in the foul-smelling mud, dazed. "She's too tall. That's his niece, the Bolton girl,"

Someone stepped closer, and her knife was taken from her loose grip. "Nice steel," He whistled. "I'll have that,"

Morganna gritted her teeth, wishing she could bring herself to move, to spit in their faces, but even that small movement sent waves of pain through her head. Mother would never be so weak - she survived the Mad King.

"Bolton?" Another voice said anxiously. "We should've been more careful. Lord Bolton's nasty, worse than the Old Lion, lots of the Northmen I've been drinking with say. He'll flay your whole skin off and wear it as a cloak if you harm his daughter,"

"Well Lord Bolton ain't here," The second guard snapped at him. "Besides, her mother's the Whore of Winterfell. You know that bastard Ren Snow, don't you? This one probably ain't even trueborn either,"

He gave a dark chuckle that made Morganna's blood boil. She wished she still had her knife, so she could stab it through his boot.

"Who said anything about harming her?" The first man said. "All I want is a nice tidy reward for handing her in to Queen Cersei. She did tell us to watch out for Starks at the Mud Gate," How did the Queen know that? Only the Starks knew about the ship. "I'm thinking she'll come quietly, now," He chuckled.

Morganna felt two pairs of hands lift her off the ground, carrying her; she was a deadweight, both out of pain and spite. They marched her up to the castle, and after a short conversation with the guards on the main gate of the Red Keep, were let in. Past the Tower of the Hand, past the bodies of men she had known for years, hoping to the gods that her uncle wasn't amongst them, until they reached a part of the castle she had only ever been let into when accompanied by Myrcella. Maegor's holdfast was formidable, and she bit her lip as she saw a body impaled on the stakes in the moat.

The goldcloaks brought her into a bare-looking chamber. The guards shouted for someone, making her wince, and several serving women hurried over. There was some conversation between the two, but Morganna couldn't focus long enough to listen. A bathtub was hauled in, but one of the guards didn't leave, even when one of the older women looked at him reproachfully.

"She's a wolf in lady's clothing, that one," He shrugged. "Stabbed four men trying to escape. I wouldn't put it past her to try to drown one of you in that tub," He did turn away, however, sitting in a chair that faced out the small window.

Morganna didn't have the energy or strength to protest as the women unlaced her dress, tutting with each other at all the mud and dirt, saying what a waste it was. They washed her off with rags and a basin of cool water at first, getting the majority of the mud off. She watched as it turned a nasty shade of greyish brown. Then they helped her into the tub. That water was cool as well, and she cringed away slightly, but was glad of it. The cold was helping her regain her senses, feel less sick, and when they washed her hair it soothed the growing lump on the back of her head.

Having been washed and redressed - into one of her own dresses, green and black, which had presumably been brought from the Tower of the Hand - the Grand Maester's assistant had a look at the back of her head, declaring her fine so long as she rested for a day or two. She was then shown up the stairs by a pair of guards, still feeling a little dizzy, but had regained enough of her senses to ask questions. No one spoke to her at all, however, merely opening a door near the top of the holdfast and pushed her inside.

"Morganna!" For perhaps the first time ever, her spirits rose a fraction as she saw Sansa, alive and... well, not quite safe. Alive and unharmed, for now. Jeyne Poole was also there, and tears were running down both girls' cheeks. "What's happening? No one will tell me anything. I've asked to see Father, and Joffrey, but no one answers me,"

Joffrey, why in hells would she want to see Joffrey at a time like this?

"They're killing all the Stark men," Morganna sat down heavily on the bed, exhausted, her head spinning. "I don't know why. Last time I saw your father was when he left the tower with some men. The fighting started not long after that,"

"Why did it take you so long to get here?" Jeyne asked, tears still streaming down her face. "I was in the tower and they shut me in here hours ago. They came up the stairs and dragged me away, they were killing everyone, my father - " She burst out sobbing again.

Morganna looked away. She had forgotten about Jeyne, who shared a room with her father Vayon Poole several floors below.

"You're not making sense, Jeyne. Why would they kill a steward?" Sansa asked in what she seemed to think was a comforting way. "He doesn't carry a sword. I'm sure he's alive and well, isn't he?" She gave Morganna a pointed look.

She was tempted to bluntly say no and agree with Jeyne that her father was likely dead, but was too weary of the day to deal with the fallout.

"They walked me right past the Tower of the Hand and I didn't see his body," She said instead, a little uncomfortably. She wasn't good at making people feel better like this, and it didn't placate Jeyne, but at least she stopped crying so noisily; it was hurting her head.

Sansa turned to Morganna. "You didn't say where you were,"

"I escaped," She said listlessly. "There's a secret passage in my fireplace. I came out near the postern gate and got out into the city. I made it as far as the Mud Gate, but they knew about the ship. I don't know how," She frowned. "The guard said the queen warned him, but I don't know where she would've heard about that,"

"One of our men must've let it slip by mistake," Sansa said, although she didn't meet her eyes, and there was something decidedly off about her tone.

A pause.

"Where's Arya?" Morganna asked, realising her cousin was absent. "Is she in another room?"

She was expecting to hear something like the girl was too wild or badly behaved to be put in here, but Sansa just bit her lip.

"I don't know," She said, actually looking concerned. "I tried asking about her, but they wouldn't tell me anything,"

They were left in the room for the rest of the day. After an hour or so of waiting for her head to stop pounding - it didn't - Morganna spent the time searching every inch of the room for some way of escape, despite Sansa telling her to stop it, that they were safe here. They were anything but safe, and the walls seemed to be closing in on her the longer she was in here, so she looked in the fireplace for another secret passage, patted down the walls, moved aside tapestries and the small book case, even the big heavy wardrobe. The noise of her struggling to move it aside sent the guards in, who were bemused at her antics, laughing as they moved the wardrobe back.

"Try the window, girl," One said mockingly.

Morganna already had. Although the windows opened wide enough to let a person through, they were at the top of Maegor's Holdfast, which was a vertical drop down to the moat of iron spikes, and a body was already impaled below them. She would've attempted the climb even then, except there were no ledges or handholds of any sort. Trying to escape that way would be suicide, even if you were Bran. Never mind that the guards would see you in seconds, and be waiting at the bottom.

Eventually, she had to conclude that the only way out of this room was the door, which was constantly under guard. Even if she got out of the room, there was no way she would get down to the next floor, let alone out of the Holdfast. When Sansa and Jeyne eventually fell asleep - Jeyne still quietly weeping, Sansa having pulled herself together with naive delusion - Morganna was determined to stay awake, sitting next to the window and staring out into the darkness, until she could no longer keep her eyes open and woke the next morning as the sun rose, with cold arms, a sore head and a stiff neck from sleeping awkwardly on a chair.

That day was maddeningly dull. All the fighting was over, and no one spoke to any of them, despite their questioning of the servants that brought them food. Sansa asked politely, whereas Morganna grabbed one poor maid, refusing to let her go unless she got answers; the guards outside the door came in at the noise and tore her off the girl. No one of importance came to see them. The only blessing was that Sansa had finally stopped asking if she could talk to Joffrey or the Queen. By the end of the day, all three of them had grown even more desperate for news, and Morganna was growing more and more restless with every passing minute, ignoring Sansa when she asked her to stop pacing around the room, even though her head hurt. It was more than frustrating being stuck in here, not knowing anything, where her uncle was, what had happened to Arya.

At sunset, the low, mournful sound of bells began to toll.

"They're for King Robert," Sansa said needlessly.

"Bit late," Morganna snorted without any humour, sat on the chair by the window again, not that she'd seen anything more that day than men clearing away the bodies of the Stark household guard, who by the looks of things had been slaughtered to a man. The King had died yesterday morning.

The day after that, the Kingsguard came for Sansa. The ugly, fat one, Boros Blount, escorted her from the room. Morganna tried to ask him questions, get him to take her with him too, but the knight ignored her, and when she tried to rush out the door, she wasn't surprised when she was shoved roughly back inside, making her head spin even though it had been slowly improving. Sansa was gone a long time. Morganna spent the time pacing, ignoring Jeyne's pleas for her to stop it, every now and then staring out the window with keen eyes, searching for any trace of her cousin, her uncle, Arya, even Ren, miraculously returned to get them all out.

Then they came for Jeyne.

"Where are you taking her?" Morganna rounded on the guards that came into their room, asking Jeyne to gather her things together.

"To see her father," One of the grunted unconvincingly. "He's in Lord Baelish's chambers. Hurry up, girl,"

"He's lying," Morganna narrowed her eyes. "Jeyne, your father's surely dead, he's trying to trick you,"

The girl looked terrified, tears welling in her eyes again, but carried on packing. "You don't know that," She said, but looked a little warily at the guard. There was no time to try to convince her, not that either of them could do anything even if she could.

"Come on," The guard guided the girl out of the room, another taking the small bag of belongings she had with her.

The door shut, and Morganna was alone. Sansa returned some time later, looking far too relaxed.

"They've taken Jeyne," Morganna turned to her. "What happened?"

"I went to see the Queen," Her cousin smiled tremulously. "Morganna, it's all going to be fine. Her Grace got me to write letters, to Mother, Robb, Aunt Lysa and Lord Tully. So long as they come to King's Landing to pledge fealty to Joffrey, all will be forgiven,"

Morganna stared at her. "Forgiven? Forgiven for what?"

"Oh," Sansa's face fell. "They think Father is a traitor. They said he tried to usurp Joffrey to put Lord Stannis on the throne. But I told them that I wasn't a traitor, that all I want to do is marry Joffrey, and they talked about if I was loyal or not. Writing to Mother and everyone else would ease their fears,"

"Are you simple?" Morganna burst out.

"What?" Sansa looked hurt.

"Lord Stark has been arrested for treason and his family has been commanded to come south," She said, starting to pace again. "That's a little too familiar, isn't it? That's exactly what happened with our grandfather and Uncle Brandon and the Mad King, and in this situation we're my mother!"

"Joffrey isn't mad," Sansa protested indignantly. "You shouldn't talk like that, someone will hear,"

She was probably right about that, but Morganna was too angry, too scared to care.

"Joffrey is a spoilt, cruel boy!" She carried on. "You saw him by the river, when he was torturing that butcher's boy, and lied about it later. You saw him hit me. My brother has known that boy for years, and has nothing good to say about him. Hells, I'm friends with his own sister, who has even less good to say. You're an idiot if you think he's going to show any mercy to your father, or to Robb when he comes south," By the end of the sentence, Morganna felt tears welling in her eyes, but furiously blinked them away.

"Stop it!" Sansa was crying openly now. "Just stop it. You're so angry and hateful! Joffrey will listen to me, he wouldn't hurt Father. Perhaps he'll only be exiled for a few years and then everything will be alright, but if Mother or Robb does something treasonous then all that will be ruined. That's why I wrote the letters. All I want to do is marry Joffrey,"

There was a silence after her words. For once, Morganna couldn't be bothered to argue. She merely shook her head, turning away and returning to her seat by the window, silent tears falling down her cheeks. She hadn't cried in years, and wasn't going to let Sansa of all people see her now.

The dress she was wearing made her look a little like her mother, tall, dark and thin. It was something similar to what she would wear, with its dark colours, high neck and narrow sleeves. Morganna didn't feel like her mother. She felt weak, pathetic, helpless, everything she knew her mother was not. She remembered the woman's angry words or warning before she left, and how she scorned them. You little fool. She hadn't appreciated then how quickly the world could be turned upside down. She'd have been better off staying in the North. Everyone would have been better off staying in the North.

That aside, she wanted nothing more than for her mother to be with her now, taking her in her arms and telling her it would all be alright. 

*

Edited November 2024