The candle flickered in the storage room.
Roslin's voice was hushed, as if sharing a forbidden secret.
"I heard my sisters say that what men like to hear most isn't sweet nothings, but the sounds a woman makes in bed because of them..."
"It should sound like you're crying, make him feel like he's destroying something precious..."
"The harder he is, the more pitiful, helpless, and charming your cries should be..."
"It makes them feel incredibly powerful, like kings conquering everything."
Myranda listened quietly.
There was no shyness in her dead grey eyes, only focus.
Like the most diligent apprentice, she engraved this inconceivable "knowledge" into her mind, word for word.
It turned out the highest form of hunting wasn't making the prey die in fear.
It was making the prey moan with pleasure for the hunter amidst the extreme pain of destruction.
Ramsay liked screams.
And this Lynn... what did he like?
"And... scent."
Roslin's voice dropped even lower, her cheeks so red they looked ready to bleed.
"They used a balm from the Summer Isles, applying it behind the ears, on the wrists, and... and the inner thighs."
"The scent is faint, but when a man gets close, it triggers his most primal desires."
"Like a beast in rut catching the scent of a female."
"I happen to have some. I haven't used it yet. I can give it to you."
Roslin couldn't continue.
Her face burned as if on fire.
She was just a poor little handmaiden; why did she have to know all this?
Enough!
Myranda, however, showed no discomfort.
She simply nodded, memorizing every piece of information.
Scent, sound, posture, gaze...
She suddenly felt she had lived her past years in vain.
She thought she understood men, but it turned out she didn't even know how to be a qualified prey.
"I understand."
Myranda stood up.
She looked at Roslin. For the first time, her eyes held no hostility, but a trace of... gratitude.
"Thank you."
The thanks were genuine.
...
Late night. Winterfell slumbered.
Ramsay Snow was roughly dragged from the dungeon by two silent soldiers.
He didn't resist.
Since his complete breakdown in the cell that day, he had become a walking corpse.
He thought he was being taken to the execution ground, but the soldiers brought him to a guest room in the tower.
Small, but clean.
Oh, there was even a blazing fire in the hearth.
The table was laden with food and wine, looking incredibly sumptuous.
"Lord Lynn orders you to stay here and behave. Or else."
The soldier dropped the warning, locked the door, and left.
Ramsay stood in the middle of the room, looking around.
What did this mean?
Lynn pulled him out of the dungeon and put him in a comfortable guest room?
What was his game?
Just then, the door to the adjacent room opened softly.
Followed by a man's voice.
Lynn!
Ramsay's muscles tensed instantly!
Like a wary wolf, he silently pressed himself against the wall separating the two rooms.
The wall was thick.
But in the silent night, any sound next door was clearly audible.
"My Lord, the water is ready."
It was the Frey girl, Roslin.
"Mm. You may go."
Lynn's voice was flat.
Footsteps receded, the door closed gently.
Then, the rustle of clothes being shed, and the sound of water being disturbed.
He was bathing.
Ramsay's heart was in his throat. He didn't know what Lynn was plotting.
Just as he thought the night would pass peacefully...
Knock, knock, knock.
A very faint knock on the door.
"Enter."
Lynn's voice carried a post-bath laziness.
The door opened.
A woman's voice spoke.
Husky, yet deliberately lowered, carrying a carefully crafted softness.
"Lord Lynn."
Ramsay's pupils contracted sharply the moment he heard that voice!
Myranda!
It was Myranda's voice!
Why was she here?!
Ramsay's head buzzed, his mind going blank.
He couldn't figure out what was happening.
Myranda was his most loyal hound!
She would never betray him!
Ramsay gritted his teeth, pressing his ear harder against the cold stone wall.
He had to hear clearly; he had to expose this lie!
Silence reigned in the next room for a moment.
"Why are you here?"
Lynn asked, his tone neutral.
"Lord Ramsay... sent me to serve you."
Myranda's voice held a trace of imperceptible trembling.
But mostly, a desperate resolve.
Ramsay felt like an invisible hand had squeezed his heart, almost stopping it.
No...
Impossible!
When did I ever say I wanted Myranda to serve Lynn?
"Oh?"
Lynn let out a meaningful chuckle.
"Your Lord Ramsay?"
"He... is no longer my master."
Myranda's voice was soft, but incredibly firm.
"From now on, my only master is you."
"Is that so?"
Lynn sounded amused.
"Then how do you plan to serve me?"
Silence.
Long silence.
"It is my honor to serve you, My Lord. I will do whatever it takes to please you..."
Then, Ramsay heard it.
The swish-swish of fabric rubbing together.
Soft, slow.
Like a gorgeous gown being slowly peeled away by invisible hands.
Ramsay's breathing became heavy.
His pale blue eyes filled with blood.
No!
Stop!
You whore!
He screamed silently in his heart, his fingernails digging deep into the cracks of the wall!
"My Lord... do... do you think I am beautiful?"
Myranda's voice rang out again, carrying a fabricated timidity and shyness.
Ramsay could almost see her through the wall.
See her body, full of wild power that belonged only to him, now exposed nakedly before another man!
"Very good. I didn't expect you to be so pale when cleaned up... come here, sit on top..."
Magma mixed with rage, jealousy, and humiliation surged in his chest.
Almost burning away his sanity!!!
"Not bad."
Lynn's comment was casual.
But it hit Ramsay's heart like a warhammer.
"Then... then do you... like it?"
Myranda's voice held a note of ingratiation.
Ramsay couldn't listen anymore!
He spun around and punched the wall hard!
THUD!
The dull sound echoed in the silent room.
The noise next door stopped.
"There... seems to be noise next door."
Myranda's voice.
"Ignore it."
Lynn sounded calm as ever.
"Just a dog in a cage."
"Even if it's unhappy, it has to lie there and listen to me."
"Or I'll cut off its head and throw its stinking meat to my dragon for a snack."
Dog?
Cage?
Listen?
These three words branded themselves deep into Ramsay's soul!
He understood!
He finally understood!
That demon Lynn intended from the start to display all this vividly before him!
He didn't want to kill him.
He wanted to use this method to crush everything Ramsay was proud of.
His dignity, his pride, his "art," his only "soulmate"—all ground to dust!
This was the ultimate torture!
"AHHH—!!!"
Ramsay let out a suppressed roar, his eyes turning red!
Just then, from next door, came another sound.
A woman's short gasp.
Followed by the sound of a heavy body falling onto a bed, the bedframe creaking under the weight.
Ramsay froze.
He could imagine what was happening.
He could imagine that bastard Lynn roughly pushing his Myranda onto the bed!
"No... please no..."
Myranda's voice sounded tearful, full of "struggle" and "resistance."
But to Ramsay's ears, the tone was wrong.
That wasn't her real voice!
She was acting!
She was performing according to some script he didn't know!
Just to please that man!
"Don't you like hearing screams?"
Lynn's mocking voice rang out, unclear who he was addressing.
"Today, I'll let you hear enough."
As soon as the words fell.
"AHHH—!"
A shrill, heart-rending scream erupted from Myranda!
Filled with extreme "pain" and "despair"!
Ramsay shook violently!
That sound...
That should have been his favorite music!
That should have been his perfect art!
Yet he had never touched Myranda.
And now, this piece of art was being played by another man!
"No! Stop! You lowborn bastard! Let her go!"
Ramsay threw himself at the wall.
Fists, head, body—slamming against the cold stone!
THUD! THUD! THUD!
He felt no pain.
He just wanted to burst through!
Tear that man to shreds!
Flay that traitorous bitch alive!
But the wall was as solid as his despair.
Next door, the "symphony" continued.
The sounds wove together into sharp flaying knives, slicing Ramsay's sanity into bloody strips!
He heard Myranda crying out.
"...Save me... save me..."
So miserable, so helpless.
But to Ramsay, this plea for help was the most vicious mockery!
Save you?
You whore!
You climbed into his bed yourself!
You willingly pleased him!
You betrayed me yourself!!
The madness in Ramsay's eyes was gradually replaced by a deeper malice.
He stopped hitting the wall.
He slowly slid down to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wall that transmitted the lewd sounds.
He laughed.
Silently, maniacally laughed.
He looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see the vivid scene next door.