the thaw. [arya stark]

viii. caught

CHAPTER EIGHT:

CAUGHT
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...VALERIA TARGARYEN wandered Winterfell's hallowed halls, her footsteps so very silent, and her usually eccentric, screaming, presence so strangely faint that the silver haired Princess could've almost been a ghost — the last worldly slither of Valeria Targaryen's soul, left to haunt that cold place for all eternity. A witness to so much history, bound by her translucent, fleeting, nature to simply look, and never touch.

Her ivory silk slip clung to her body like water, every inch, curve and crook of her body laid bare as she slinked through corridor after corridor, searching for something — anything to entertain her, for her stay at Winterfell had so far been quite uneventful, a fact that perturbed her ever—busy mind greatly.

And soon enough, as if by magic, entertainment came crashing into her life as the faintest trace of an exasperated rustle met her ears, and she stopped — her violet eyes circumspecting the hallway around her as she searched for the sound's source, narrowing as she identified a single open door. The door that, to her own...admittedly quite limited...knowledge, belonged to Littlefinger himself.

With two swift strides, Valeria stood at the room's entrance, angling herself to regard the scene within from a comfortable distance — and grinning into the darkness at what she saw.

Arya Stark, in all her unsettling glory, was rummaging through Littlefinger's draws with a careful, practiced precision that marked this feat as no one off occasion. Her usually placid face frustrated, painted a dancing portrait of bloody crimson and golden yellow by the small candle in front of her. Her sword — needle — glinted dangerously in the twilight, marking her deadly intentions.

Valeria could've almost been satisfied by this sight alone — yet although she was rendered quite entertained by Arya's flustered struggle, she could not quite help the almost burning impulse to taunt her that so suddenly clutched at her mind — slowly tilting her head as she allowed a short, mocking sigh to escape her lips, her sigh soon descending into a bell—like laugh as Arya turned to face her, her grey eyes wide and alert at the sudden intrusion.