Deep in Winterfell's dungeons.
The cell that had once held Ramsay Snow now stood empty.
Ramsay's new quarters were in an abandoned kennel in a corner of the castle.
It was dark there, untouched by sunlight all year round.
The air was perpetually thick with the nauseating stench of stale dog piss and rotting straw.
Ramsay lay curled in the kennel's deepest corner.
He wore a ragged hemp prison uniform, smeared with mud and unidentifiable filth.
His once meticulously groomed hair now clung haphazardly to his forehead like a clump of filthy weeds.
Ramsay's face was clean, having been roughly scrubbed with cold water.
But his pale blue eyes had lost every trace of their former vitality.
They had become cloudy and hollow.
Like two dust-covered glass beads.
A few days earlier, the "operation" performed on that cold stone bed had taken the last thing that made him a "man."
He was no longer the elegant hunter who delighted in flaying people.
Now, he was nothing but... Reek.
A lowly, mutilated creature who did not even deserve a name.
His daily task was to clean every kennel in Winterfell.
With his bare hands, he cleared away the hounds' excrement, bit by bit.
Even the hunting party's hounds now bared their teeth at him and growled in warning.
Dogs bullied the weak and feared the strong.
They could smell the fear and humiliation on him.
Now, even the dogs considered themselves above Ramsay.
Ramsay never resisted and never spoke.
He simply went about his work in silence, silently enduring the jailers' beatings and abuse and the hounds' aggression.
The smallest, most insignificant reward could move him.
A piece of moldy bread, a bowl of sour-smelling broth... and he would kneel on the ground with tears of gratitude, kissing his benefactor's boots.