theme by dystopie
“You will see, Sansa.” She took her by the hand and gave it a squeeze. “Sister.” Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. ‘How can I let my sister marry Joffrey?’ she thought, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears.
She was sixteen, brown-haired and brown-eyed, slender and beautiful. The people called out her name as she passed, held up their children for her blessing, and scattered flowers under the hooves of her horse.
