Arya, opening her eyes, moaned from the searing sunlight against her face. She slowly sat up, her muscles sore for some unknown reason. Arya yawned and barely managed to fully open both eyes, wondering how long she'd been sleeping.
Where am I? she thought, arching her back. The bed had red, silk sheets and the pillows were softer than the ones she's slept on in Winterfell. Was this a dream? Was this heaven?
Then realized she was naked, and the events of the previous night came rushing back. Her submission to a foreign faith, the ritual, the sex. She rubbed her hand along her pussy, feeling the dried cum still lingering from her depraved exploits. She looked around for some clothes, but found none, the only object of interest being a brazier burning beside her bed.
Curious, Arya stood up and gazed into the flames. She had heard of red priests (and priestesses) seeing images and visions in the fires. She tried her hardest to make out some shape or figure, but saw nothing beyond the flickering tongues of the fire.
"You won't see anything. Trust me, we've all tried."
Arya spun around. In the doorway was one of Melisandre's apprentices.
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