( her name, but she doesn't recognize the voice - or the person that it belongs to. he looks like a fright; the sort of thing that old nan would tell stories about to arya and jon at night (with sansa grudgingly listening in, though pretending to be focused on her embroidery). a horror. years earlier, sansa would have recoiled or hid.
she was made of sterner stuff now. steel, not porcelain.
instead, she stares, openly, forcing herself to look until the face is no longer frightening, until he no longer makes her want to wince. )
How could you possibly know that?
( she's not in the mood to be kind, or in the mood to be told that what she wants more than anything (all she has wanted for these last years) was not indeed what she wanted. especially not by a stranger who looked like the sort of thing that came out of the gamekeeper's after a hunt. )
possum screeeeech
she was made of sterner stuff now. steel, not porcelain.
instead, she stares, openly, forcing herself to look until the face is no longer frightening, until he no longer makes her want to wince. )
How could you possibly know that?
( she's not in the mood to be kind, or in the mood to be told that what she wants more than anything (all she has wanted for these last years) was not indeed what she wanted. especially not by a stranger who looked like the sort of thing that came out of the gamekeeper's after a hunt. )
Who are you?