"Are you alright," she whispers, clutching at the iron bars with both hands.

"Leave," he orders urgently.

She sighs, "Theon, please."

"Look, they'll kill you if they see you here," he shakes his head, "he's obviously having his fill of me, so just let him."

She glances at his battered and broken body, no trace of the man she had loved was left in it.

"Leave me, (Name)."

"I-I can't."

"Why?"

"Because," she looks down, exasperatedly, "I-I-"

"You don't honestly think I'd believe you if you said that you still loved me, didn't you?"

"I was mad, you killed them, and you betrayed Robb-"

"Oh God, Robb. Robb, the dear heir of Winterfell. The Great King in the North. He just couldn't keep his cock in his pants, couldn't he?"

"Theon!"

"No, he just had to end up fucking that girl and marrying her to preserve her 'honor'. What a prick. He destroyed everything he had built, himself. He deserved that Red Wedding-"

"Stop it!"

"He deserved to have his body desecrated like that."

"Please."

He looks at you, with a thin trickle of tears coming down your cheeks in a steady pace.

"Just, stop it."

"It was always Robb, wasn't it," he asks, with slight amusement in his tone, "I wonder, did you ever really love me?"

"I loved you, Theon Greyjoy," you confess, "I thought I still did but now..."

"Then leave, leave me to my fate, (Name)."

"Gods save you."

"..."

Slow claps sound through the dirty dungeon, to Theon it sounds worse than a whip's crack. Though shadows obscure his features, he can see Ramsay Bolton grinning insanely.

"That was a wonderful performance," he critiques, "but let's get that out of the way. In the meantime," he stops to pick up a pair of bloody pliers on the table.

"Are you ready for our session?"