[Mirrors: AO3 | FFN]
Jon didn't like his new chambers at Dragonstone. A moment ago, in exasperated pursuit of a crunching noise that chased every one of his tosses and turns, he had stuffed his hand down into the corner where the bed met the wall and pulled out a flattened corn husk doll. Half its face was smeared black, and a folded bit of parchment had been sewn to one of its hands as a book. The Baratheon girl had made the sad little thing herself.
He got out of bed and set the toy gently upon the hearth's vermillion embers, where an ugly white instant transformed it into nothing and weightless ash. It could be worse, he thought, as he shoved himself back under the covers. He could be stuck in Arya's old bed instead, stuck with the pointy end of a dead girl's hidden needle.
A soft knocking fell upon the lower part of one of the chamber's double doors. "So