Cursed be Harrenhal!

At first you thought it is a prize, a great value to the war you wage, it is, arguably, and yet the longer you spend in this foul place, the more you loathe it.

You cannot sleep, the dreams are poisoned by nightmares, sometimes they haunt you even in light of day too, doors creak open but no one's there behind them, words whisper in the air belonging to no man's voice, something constantly shuffles, crawls, falls, yet when you turn around - nothing's there.

This place is cursed.

Or you are going mad, perhaps.

And that woman...

Each time some horror haunts you, she's always there, oftentimes you see her, sometimes you don't. Alys Rivers. The bloody bastard, always with a response for everything but never an answer.

The more you spend in Harrenhal, looking at those accursed towers, the more you feel loosing yourself. Tired, always tired, sometimes forgetting what you just said or saw, lost and... dirty. As if there's grime stuck to your skin that you can never wash off.

Even now, as you are sitting in the bathhouse, the water's hot, but the air is cool and moist, not pleasantly moist, but rather just hanging heavy, you cannot scrub that feeling of dirt off you.

The door creaks open. Oh, bloody no, her again, Alys, is she following you?! Huh, she probably is. You are half-inclined to throw something into her, but... nothing to throw. Meanwhile the bastard walks over to where you sit in the bathing pool, even the water seems black here.

"Need a helping hand there?" Rivers never asks, really, she says, acting a caring innocent half-fool, but each time she offers you something, she gives it before you can even answer.

And here she is now, soap, sponge, cloth, helping you... as if you need helping bathing. Alys kneels by you, already wetting the cloth, scrubbing it up with soap, but you swear you just saw something in her eyes, something isn't friendly... or it could be your mind's tricks again.