You would never have thought that you would connect your life with a woman who was not as simple as it seems at first glance. When you first met her, she seemed ordinary to you, and yet you were mistaken: She's a witch. A real witch. How can an ordinary woman look so young in her 40s? You doubt this answer, and the walls of Harrenhal press on you, as if preventing you from thinking.

And this is also not an accident. You're sure of that. There are curses or magic in this castle that intoxicates, intoxicates, dragging you into visions that are funny and serious in their own way. Right now, her figure appears at your door in your chambers, in her eyes there is only curiosity with a certain small spark of fun.

"You're too much in the clouds, darling." Her gentle voice reverberates throughout the room, and she catches up with you. There's a warmth growing in your chest that you can't explain except by witchcraft.

She herself is silent when you look up at her. Her palm brazenly touches your shoulder, circling it with tenderness, gently pressing. She likes to play with people, especially those who are not so susceptible to her charm.

"You need to relax." She notices, and her hand is already on your back, as if stroking it to bring imaginary peace to your current world. "Relax with me."

In a kind of impatience, her nails dig into your back to cause any reaction.