Maria’s tiny body lay silent in the Tower of Joy, her chest a faint rise and fall — barely a breath, a flicker of life that was never meant to be. Beside her, her brother, Jon Snow, was no different. He was still, his skin pale, his lips blue.
Maria could feel it, even in the haze of death. They weren’t long for this world.
In this moment, she could almost feel the weight of punishment.
To die three times is fitting for a sinner like me.
Once as Lady Maria, in the waking world, where she danced with blood and madness.
Once within a nightmare, bound in chains of fate, caught in the maw of a hungry abyss.
And now, once again — as a stillborn child, her body a fragile shell with no life to claim.
Her heart, already scarred from her past lives, only sank deeper as she felt the cold hands of death wrapping around her once more. She felt sorrow for her mother, too weak to survive this. The mother who had brought them into this world, only for them to be torn from it in a cruel twist of fate.
Only an honest death will cure her grief.
Her mother’s tears fell onto her small body. Maria could barely feel them, but there was something… familiar about the sensation, something painfully human. As if in that moment, her mother’s grief was hers to carry too.
Maria’s breath grew weaker, and she thought she might fade into the darkness once again. Her soul, already battered by countless deaths, longed for rest.
But then, something changed.
Something warm, something familiar, touched her lips.
It was a warmth that shouldn’t belong here, in the coldness of death. It was liquid, thick, and tasting of iron.
Blood.
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The thought came unbidden, like a memory from another life, from a life where Lady Maria had walked the blood-soaked streets of Yharnam, tasting the same liquid. That same rush of energy, that same forbidden power.
Her eyes snapped open.
In the dim light of the Tower of Joy, a figure loomed. The blood dripping into her mouth was from a knight. His face was noble, determined — and his sword gleamed with the reflection of the same moon that had witnessed her first death.
Arthur Dayne.
His voice was calm, almost reverent, as he knelt beside her, eyes fixed on her brother.
“For the prince that was promised.”
A shudder ran through Maria. Her mother had not been a mere noblewoman — she had been caught in a web of blood magic and devotion. And here, one of the most famous knights in Westeros had willingly given his life to her, sacrificing his own blood for hers.
Her mother was not weak. She had been surrounded by a blood cult, one willing to bind itself to her, to sacrifice life and soul for the prince. For the children of prophecy.
For Maria and Jon Snow.
Maria felt her strength returning, her senses sharpening as the blood magic swirled around her, mingling with the warmth of the life she had been denied. She looked to her brother.
Jon’s eyes opened.
Unnaturally blue.
While maria's was blood red.
She could feel it then, a familiar presence thrumming in his veins. A pull, a connection. Blood magic. Just like hers.
The door to the room burst open, the heavy oak crashing against the stone wall.
Her uncle, Eddard Stark, entered — his face a mask of concern and stoic resolve.
He approached their mother, who now lay weak and fevered, her breathing labored.
“I swear, I will keep them safe.”
Maria could hear his words, though they felt distant, as if she were sinking in quicksand. He would protect them.
But how? How could they be protected from the curse of blood that already clung to them?
Maria’s mind swirled with the sensation of her own blood — the magic that had always been both her gift and her curse. Blood, blood, always blood.
In every life, I was made by blood… and unmade by blood.
When would it end?
When would the endless cycle of death, rebirth, and blood magic finally cease?
Maria’s eyes drifted closed once again, but not to sleep. No, not yet. She was too aware of the curse that had been placed upon her. Of the blood she carried, the price she would one day have to pay.
And as she lay there, cradled in the fleeting warmth of life, her twin brother by her side, Maria knew that the end was not near. Not yet. There was more to come.
More blood. More magic. More death.
And maybe, just maybe, a chance for redemption.