BLIZZARD: The Little Wolf VOL 8 (ROBB STARK X OC)

Chapter Eight (Saera)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Saera

Present Day

My grandmother sat on the end of my bed and held a wreath in her hands. The one my mother made when I was sick as a child. She picked at a piece of it and smiled. It was twined into the shape of a heart.

"I remember your mother writing me when you were ill. She was pregnant with Jacerys at the time. I thought she was writing to me to tell me to start my journey for his birth but rather she wanted me to know you were sick. You were sick for a week, Saera. Alana told me she was making a wreath for you... Lady Stark taught her well. I never got the hang of it." Grandmother Cersei admitted to me.

I keep the wreath in my room above my bed. Mother always told me it would continue to keep my safe so long as I have it. But when I saw her burn the one she made years ago it scared me. I didn't want her to burn mine. Sometimes I still fear when she comes into my room and looks at it that she'll throw it right to the flames.

That I'll see her scream and cry again the way she once did.

"What happens if you burn one?" I asked softly. "I saw my mother-"

Grandmother went stiff and handed the wreath back to me. "You don't know?"

"Don't know... What?"

She shook her head. "Oh sweet Saera..." Her smooth hands cupped my face and a kiss landed on my forehead. Her long fingers pushed my hair behind my ears and she kissed my forehead again before speaking ever so softly. "It's not for me to tell you."

"Tell me what?" I've been confused before. But never this confused.

Suddenly it hit me.

My mother must be a witch.

Burning something in the fire and the way she had screamed? How she and my father were so distant after that? She wore black for a long time. I remember that vividly. Black. She always wore black. She was a witch, she still is- that's why she knows things that I've done before I can even confess to the truth.

My mother is a fucking witch.

It wasn't a mental breakdown that my mother had. She wasn't sad. She was performing a ritual and my father was trying to stop her and it was a scream of anger and rage that he was trying to interfere.

Perhaps my father was resentful that I'd become a witch also and be just like my mother. I had to prove to him that I'm not a witch. I sucked in a deep breath and rose from the bed. Going to my wardrobe and picking out a bright blue gown.

"Is this one bright enough?" I asked my grandmother who looked at me confused. "Should I wear this to dinner tonight?"

A smile and a soft nod. "It's love, Saera."

"Good."

-

At dinner I watched as my mother hardly ate the food on her plate. She picked at everything except the steak. Which was cooked medium rare. Bloody. I wondered if she always ate it that way. My father even made a grossed-out face seeing the blood and juices drip from the piece that was on her fork.

Witch.

She's a fucking witch.

Isobel leaned into me as I stared wide eyed in horror at my mother. "You're mad at her aren't you?"