[center][b]Silence[/b]

[i]The very damning absence of all forms of sounds.[/i]

[b]Darkness[/b]

[i]The very damning absence of all forms of lights.[/i]

[b]Apathy[/b]

[i]The very damning absence of all forms of feeling[/i]

[b]Hollow[/b]

[i]The very damning absence of [b]you[/b]

[b]Wake Up[/i][/b]

---

Dim rays of sunlight filled the blurry and faded vision of a young peasant *boy*, a soft groan escaping the tomboy's lips as her head throbbed violently with an unbearable migraine. Hands weakly reached up to the cloudy skies, her hazel eyes trained on the very sun that the sky clotted like some infectious plague. Another groan escaped the girl's lips, this feeling of discomfort and aching coursing up and down her spinal cord. The pain of it was truly unfathomable in most aspects, like the aftermath of being struck at once by a hundred hammers. Reaching down near her waistline, a brief false comfort resided in the girl's heart, feeling the very precious rapier that her bastard yet beloved brother had gifted her.

Her name, as if it mattered anymore in the predicament she was in, is Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. In one moment, she was in the decrepit ruins of Harrenhall, one of the greatest fortress built in Westeros. Yet, in only mere minutes, the hellfire from several dragons rode by the mighty Targaryens reduced it merely to blacken cobblestone and dull grey ashes. All of her memories rushed back to her, of her family, of friends, of her enemies, and most importantly, of her goal in life after seeing of what became of her caring father. Not wishing to endure laying on her back as if she were some weakling, the preteen arose to her feet.

Instantly, the forces of gravity worked against as her legs violently wobbled. Extending her arms out to balance herself, Arya Stark hissed as she nearly lost her balance, breathing calmly as the unbearable pains and aches in her body slowly faded away into nothing more than slight annoyances. Reaching up to rub her eyes, the socially deviant princess flinched as she finally took into account of where she was. She was not in Harrenhall, she was not with her friends Gendry and Hotpie, and she was certainly not in the Riverlands; no, she was far, far from home. A soft breeze passed by, the girl's teeth chattering as she stared blankly at the rolling, grassy hills around her and the thick yet small patch of woods with a simple dirt road being paved leading into the unknown.

Hearing a soft raven caw, the young adventurer stumbled back as a large scroll was abruptly dropped onto the ground, rolling onto the dirt and even kicking some small particles of dust in the air. Watching with curiousity as the black raven flew gracefully away, it was in that brief moment of looking below did the true horror of the situation begin to set in. There were others, other men, women, and even children around her age. What unsettled Arya the most, however, was how alien and foreign they looked. From a simple cloaked woman to what appeared to be an oddly dressed skeleton, the spunky, once carefree noblewoman of House Stark began to slowly recede backwards from the unconscious group of misfits.

"Wh'at in the..." Arya stated with disbelief, a hand clenched on the hilt of Needle as she proceed to move backwards. Unintentionally climbing up the gradual yet high hill, the preteen hastily turned around in panic as her body froze. Before her lay the site of a burning city, a city larger than King's Landing and a city that was long dead. Smoke filled the sky as only embers seemed to truly illuminate the coastal domain, snow-peaked mountains cradling this unknown city as if it were it's mother. Not the Riverlands, Not The North, not even the Free City of Braavos.

Wherever Arya was, she knew in the back of her cloudy, confused, and even slightly scared mind, she was far, far from home.[/center]