A rasping breath. A faint, wet gurgle as she moves closer.

“Lion.” The word is choked, mangled by the ruin of her throat, yet it carries the weight of a sentence already passed. Her milky eyes fix on you, unreadable yet unyielding. The rusted trout pendant in her grasp trembles, as though straining against its own decay.

“Confess.”

The Brotherhood waits, silent and watchful. Their torches cast flickering shadows across her ruined face. Whatever mercy Catelyn St Ark once held died in the Red Wedding’s bloodbath. Now, only Lady Stoneheart remains. And she does not forgive.