She ambled the streets and back alleys of the dockside of Kings Landing, where she plied her trade, such as it was, Melleah on the lookout for customers, sailors, dockworkers, well anyone who had the coin enough to pay for her services.
The life of the whore was all she had ever known, ever since her pa had fucked her and her mother had caught them, throwing her out onto the street and accusing her of being a 'little slut. From then on she had never really had a place to live as such, she had worked in a whorehouse in her early teens but the madame had thrown her out after she had passed ten and six, saying she was 'too old' for her customers tastes. She had lived form then on in dosshouses, taverns and the odd shared room, depending on how much money she could scrape together. When she was younger it was easier of course, now in her third decade of life things were more difficult, and she had to make do with whatever passing trade she could scrounge up on the streets.
And the trade here was rough, a broken nose, several missing teeth more than a few bruises she had collected along the way. The wine helped, in fact it was the only thing that often allowed her to face another day, but even the cheapest roughgut still cost coin, and she had found herself needing more and more of the stiff as the years passed to numb her to her existence.
The night was dark, clouds seudding across a quarter moon, and her vision was not what it once was, nor was her hearing, so she was startled to see a figure seeming to bleed out of the darkness beside her. Before she could even gasp in surprise her mind spun away from her, tumbling end of over end, her thoughts chaotic and meaningless, as she sensed more than felt herself being dragged into an alleyway, a grip like iron on her shoulder.
Her body did not want to cooperate with her mind, which itself was a riot of confusion and terror, being pushed down onto her knees, her sight barely registering a presence towering above her. Whoever it was it held her in a vice like grip with one hand on her shoulder, her own hands falling by her sides, useless despite her mind screaming at them to move, to ward off this assault.
The figure's other hand rooted before her and withdrew a huge pillar, the size of which she had never seen in all her years as a whore, the hand that had been grabbing her shoulder moving to enclose her head, a hand of a giant, strong and terrible, pulling her forwards.
Her mouth opened without her telling it to, and instead of screaming as she wanted to do the thick cock was pushed straight past her lips and into her mouth, stretching her jaw wider than it had even done before.
The man's other hand, which had been guiding his pillar into her mouth now moved to grip her shoulder, his strength was enormous, he effortless gripped at her, pulling her forwards as he thrust towards her. His pillar forced its way past her throat, and she gagged explosively, but the man did not care.
She felt his pillar start to slide down her throat, strangely softening and pulsing, though he was not thrusting himself further into her. The panic that her mind was trying to use to force her to move her limbs spiked into absolute horror when she felt as if hot knives were stabbing her throat, followed by the sensation of worms burrowing out from the flesh filling her throat.
The skin of her neck writhed and pulsed as alien, metamorphic flesh burrowed and rooted inside her, seeking out major arteries and veins, frantically siphoning off her blood.
As consciousness fled Melleah for the last time her gaze beheld eyes burning like coals in the face of creature who wore the skin of a man continued to feed, greedily consuming as much of her blood as it could, until its repast was finished, the whore's body drained of its crimson ichor
Carefully the creature withdrew its metamorphic flesh back into itself, making sure to leave no trace of it ever having inserted its foul, slug grey tissues into the dead whore. It had long come to the conclusion that discarding its leavings was never a good idea and they usually came back to inconvenience him. As the last of the metamorphic extrusions retracted back into his cock and it returned to a more recognizably human shape, he pulled fully out of the dead whores gaping mouth, barely even glanced down at his meal, but he did give her head a quick twist, his strength easily snapping her neck and twisting her head around completely to face the opposite direction.
The whore would not rise to join the narrow ranks of his kind, a pale, almost comical shadow of what he was in truth, no, his own kind were of no use to him as he had found out through long and bitter experience. His egg son had scorned him, his blood son had been ever worse, and he had been forced to put both of them down in the end. The various and many leavings he had left discarded during the centuries of his life and wanderings had never amounted to anything but trouble in most cases, so he was careful now when he fed to leave it at that, making sure that no progeny would result.
The same when he required comfort, he would always be careful to make sure that nothing would come of it to bother him at a later stage, and oft was the time that he would dine off his partners after enjoying them thoroughly and to his heart's content
Turning away from the whores discarded and shrunken corpse he strode off uncaring, for he had much to do, and much to plan. This land of Westeros had fascinated him ever since he had found himself suddenly whisked away by forces unknow from his home on earth and deposited into the world called Planetos.