:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

Sansa Alayne Sansa has a collection
of fairytales. It’s small but it’s growing.
It’s not an obsession, it’s not, but she
had long since came to realize those
happily ever afters weren’t originally
very happy. Her first book was from
Joffrey; a taunting gift, a present borne
out of vile hatred and sadistic pleasure.

Sansa read it only a month after. He
may not know it, but his words still
ring in her ears, ‘maybe you’d grow a
spine, you worthless bitch’ and that
book became her spine. It’s macabre and
violent and angry– much like the storm
in the center of Sansa’s core. When
Joffrey died in a pool of his own vomit,
Sansa thought of her book. It’s the only
thing she took with her while on the run.

Her collection expanded, little by little,
one book at a time. Each story, each word
is a cautionary tale, a warning song that
she tucks beneath her skin like armour for
the sharp knives that demand for her blood.