Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

At the center were four figures, two of them surrounding the third while the fourth stood apart. One of them was clearly female and though the erosion had long since erased her expression, the way she tenderly held the figure in the center of the ceiling clearly showed some kind of deep anguish. The other one was clad in some kind of armor, shaking the one at the center.

Joffrey frowned as he kept looking, shifting the beam towards the central figure. His hands seemed to be twisting the wrong way but only barely, as if their movement had just began. His chest seemed to be giving out as his neck coiled like some kind of maddened snake. And his face, his face—

"Joffrey, Joffrey what is it?!" wailed his mother as she held him, the pain unbearable.

His face, was, bloated—

"Joffrey!!! Please! Don't, Joffrey--"

Swollen, twisting in a rictus of agony as the poison clogged his airways and the purple whirlwind erupted from the sides, tiny wisps of it already reaching for his form.

He shifted his gaze from the wedding to the side as his head pounded, following the wisp as it passed beside his uncle Tyrion, dazed as he held a cup... He kept following it as it reached the ground.

Joffrey suddenly realized he was standing on the purple, the whole floor of the hall was one big whirlwind. He could see the eddies and twirls carved in loving, degraded detail, a perfect image of the curse that tormented him.

Joffrey took a breath every half second, hands shaking out of control as the trembling light followed the whirlwind of twirls and eldritch fractals as they kept getting more and more complicated, finally reaching a crescendo as they suddenly stopped, right in the place he was standing upon.

He fell to the ground, hyperventilating under the weight of a million years as the lantern clanked to the side, illuminating the circle in the middle of the room which was devoid of the purple, right in front of his now sagging head.

He saw something carved on the circle, two sets of them. The first set was a string of half destroyed figures and dots, all arrayed one after the other on a line, while the other…

The other set was written in the common tongue of Westeros.

His hand seemed as if with the palsy as it grabbed the lantern and slowly, ever so slowly, pointed it at the jagged and gritted letters.

E…V…N… P…R… U…H…

The damage was too great, the time too far away… the rest of the letters were illegible… he couldn't figure it out.

He couldn't figure it out.

The answers were staring at him right at his face and he couldn't understand them.

I can't figure it out.

Joffrey suddenly screamed as he sagged back on his knees, a long, harrowing screech which mixed with the appeasers the miner had left in the room, a sudden gust of wind making them shake and tumble, thrum and clank.

HHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMmmmmmmmm…. They thrummed.

"WHAT ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!" he screamed at the Purple.

"PLEASE! ANSWER ME PLEASE!!!" he screamed as he pounded at the floor with his fists, his eyes red.

HHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUMMMMmmmmm… the appeasers thrummed with the faltering wind, growing quieter as the gust petered out.

"please… please…" he muttered as he fell on his side, tucking his arms close to his belly and feeling an empty, all-encompassing wariness that seemed to pull him down to the floor.

The hall was still, the winds gone, the carving unmoving, the Purple quiet.

Whatever answers had been left for Joffrey, they had long since gone with the salt and the wind.

-.PD.-