A night passed.
The wooden door of the storage room opened again.
This time, only Roslin Frey entered.
She carried a wooden tray with a steaming bowl of meat soup and a piece of black bread.
Myranda looked up, her eyes still full of hostility.
"Get out!"
Roslin didn't speak.
She simply placed the tray on the floor, then squatted down and untied the ropes binding Myranda's feet.
Myranda froze.
She moved her numb feet, staring warily at Roslin.
"Lord Lynn ordered me to untie you."
Roslin's voice was soft, carrying a trace of imperceptible sympathy.
"He said to eat something and regain your strength."
"Regain my strength?"
Myranda sneered.
"So his men can have more fun torturing me?"
"No."
Roslin shook her head.
"Lord Lynn said he will let you see Lord Ramsay with your own eyes. He wants you to know he didn't lie."
Hearing this, Myranda's heart sank.
A sense of unease coiled around her heart instantly.
But she forced herself to stay tough.
"I'll be waiting!"
"I want to see what kind of tricks you're playing!"
She didn't refuse the food anymore.
She grabbed the black bread, took a vicious bite, and gulped down the soup.
She needed strength.
She needed a clear head to expose that man's despicable lies and greet her Lord Ramsay!
Roslin watched her wolf down the food, her gaze complex.
What a pathetic woman.
Even an outsider like Roslin could see it easily.
Ramsay didn't love her.
But Myranda was blind to it, believing in it completely.
Truly pathetic.
Well, Lord Lynn doing this could be seen as giving her release.
Roslin could fully understand Lynn's actions.
...
The dungeons of Winterfell were quieter than ever.
Ramsay wasn't screaming or banging his head against the wall anymore.
He was curled up in the corner of his cell, motionless as a corpse with its soul sucked out.
The wound on his forehead had scabbed over; the dried blood made his handsome face look particularly grotesque.
Suddenly, soft footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
A flicker of alertness passed through Ramsay's dead eyes.
He slowly raised his head.
In the torchlight, a tall figure appeared at the cell door.
Ned Stark.
Behind him were two soldiers, escorting someone with a burlap sack over their head.
"Ramsay Snow."
Ned's voice was as cold as Northern ice.
"Your accomplice."
Ramsay's pupils contracted sharply.
Ned nodded to the soldiers behind him.
A soldier roughly pulled the sack off the person's head.
Myranda!
Her face still held a trace of panic.
When she saw the familiar figure in the cell, her eyes exploded with wild joy!
"Lord Ramsay!"
She cried out excitedly, trying to rush forward, but was firmly held back by the soldiers.
Ramsay looked at her, his expression complicated.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end said nothing, just slowly lowered his head.
"Put her in."
Ned ordered coldly.
The jailer unlocked the door.
Soldiers roughly shoved Myranda into the cell.
She stumbled and nearly fell, but didn't care.
She scrambled to Ramsay, trying to grab his hand, but Ramsay instinctively dodged.
Myranda's hand froze in mid-air.
"Lord Ramsay... you... what's wrong?"
Looking at his desolate state, the unease in her heart grew stronger.
"Why did you come?"
Ramsay's voice was low.
"I..."
Myranda didn't know how to answer.
"You stupid woman!"
Ramsay suddenly looked up.
His bloodshot eyes stared dead at Myranda, filled with malice and rage!
"Who told you to come!"
"Who told you to kill that guard back then!"
"If you hadn't killed anyone, we might have gotten leniency."
"But you stupid bitch, you ruined everything!"
"You ruined us!"
Ramsay lunged forward, his hands clamping around Myranda's throat!
Myranda was stunned by this sudden turn of events!
She even forgot to resist, just staring blankly at the man whose face was twisted with anger.
This wasn't her Lord Ramsay.
Her Lord Ramsay, though cruel and cold, always had eyes full of elegance and calm.
But this man before her...
He was like a mad dog!
"Ramsay! Stop!"
Ned Stark's roar snapped Ramsay out of his madness.
Ramsay let go as if electrocuted.
Myranda collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat, coughing violently.
Air rushed into her lungs, bringing not relief, but a stinging pain worse than suffocation.
She looked up, teary-eyed, at Ramsay.
"W-why?"
"Why?"
Ramsay smiled, a look uglier than crying.
He stumbled back a few steps, leaning against the cold stone wall.
"Myranda... my Myranda..."
He muttered, a look of struggle and pain in his pale blue eyes.
"Do you know?"
"He said as long as I serve him, he would spare my life."
"He even... even promised me that once I help him take the Dreadfort, he would let me pursue Sansa Stark."
Sansa Stark!
Hearing that name, Myranda felt an invisible hand squeeze her heart!
The noble, beautiful eldest daughter of House Stark, with a face as exquisite as a porcelain doll!
Ramsay had described to her countless times, in an almost obsessive tone, how he would turn that proud little Northern she-wolf into his perfect collection!
"But you... you idiot!"
Ramsay's voice turned shrill again!
"Your murder has become the leverage they use to threaten me!"
"They made me choose!"
"Choose between you and my future!"
His gaze fixed on Myranda.
Myranda's body began to tremble uncontrollably.
She remembered Lynn's words in the storage room.
"Your Lord Ramsay wants to trade your flesh for his life."
No...
Impossible...
That was just a lie...
"Lord Ramsay..."
Myranda's voice carried a humble plea.
"You... you will save me, right?"
"We are in this together... we said we would face anything together..."
"Save you?"
Ramsay interrupted her.
A cruel, cold smile appeared on his face.
"You are naively cute, Myranda."
"Why should I save you?"
"You are just a dog I raised."
"A bitch... who is now useless."
"Do you know?"
"As long as I can convince you to willingly serve him, please him, Lynn will not only release me but give me the Dreadfort."
"And you, my Myranda."
Ramsay walked slowly to her and squatted down.
He reached out, stroking Myranda's cold cheek as if soothing a pet.
"You are now... a small gift I offer to my new master."
"Go on. Please him."
"Use your lowly body to buy my bright future."
"This is your last chance to serve me as my most loyal hound."
Ramsay's voice was as gentle as a lover's whisper.
But every word turned into the sharpest blade, slicing Myranda's heart into bloody ribbons!
Her world collapsed around her.
All her faith, all her love, all her persistence... turned into a massive joke in this moment.
Myranda stared blankly at the man before her.
At his handsome yet strange face.
At the undisguised indifference and cruelty in his pale blue eyes.
She finally understood.
Lynn hadn't lied.
She had lied to herself.
She had woven her own lies to deceive herself for so many years.
She wasn't his soulmate, not his lover.
She was just a dog.
A dog that could be sacrificed and gifted away at any time.
"Ah..."
An inhuman wail filled with extreme pain and despair squeezed out of Myranda's throat.
She felt her soul being torn in half.
One half wailing, the other half sneering.
She laughed.
Laughing until tears streamed down her face.
She looked at Ramsay.
In her once-fierce eyes, only dead ashes remained.
"Fine."
Myranda squeezed the word through her teeth.
"As you wish. I agree."
With that, Myranda stood up slowly, not looking at Ramsay again.
She turned and walked out of the cell, step by step.
Her steps were incredibly steady.
Her back was incredibly resolute.
The iron door of the dungeon closed slowly behind her.
Cutting off Ramsay's suppressed, victorious chuckle.
When the footsteps faded completely at the end of the corridor.
Inside the cell, the "Ramsay" who had been leaning against the wall laughing softly suddenly went limp and collapsed to the floor.
With effort, he raised a hand and peeled off the mask, thin as a cicada's wing, from his face.
Beneath the mask was Roslin's pale, shaken face.
She gasped for air, feeling on the verge of collapse.
Every line, every movement just now had drained her completely.
But she did it.
She perfectly played the role of a cold, heartless, treacherous madman.
Roslin looked up toward the cell door.
From the shadows in the corner, a figure walked out slowly.
It was Lynn, who had just removed his Ned mask.
He looked at Roslin slumped on the floor, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Well done, my little handmaiden."
"Your acting is even better than I imagined."
"It seems you have a talent for this."