ironbornprince:

          A burning desire to deny her
          danced within him. Every dulcet
          sound that escaped her lips felt
          like the tightening of Ramsay’s 
          bonds. Again and again he tried 
          to shake his head, to yell and spite
          her words. All he could manage was
          the smallest of whispers - a soft 
          whimper of admission. 

                    ❝ After. 
                              Only ever after. ❞

          His days as Lord of this castle had
          been fuelled by a conviction so strong
          that regret had never entered his psyche.
          Balon’s poisonous tendrils had insnared 
          him into a traitorous fury; a mindset so 
          potent and destructive it would haunt 
          his ever day. 

               ❝ But, after, it was all I could think of. 
          It consumed my every waking hour. 
          Even now, my lady, I can still taste 
          the stench of Winterfell burning. ❞ 

          Her blue orbs forced him to recall
          her mother. A women who had never
          trusted nor liked him. The voice who
          had scandalised Robb’s ears with
          words of caution when it came to
          House Greyjoy.  At her attempt of 
          condolence, Theon could only shake
          his head bitterly, finally able to look
          her in the eye. 

                    ❝ The gods, 
                              if they even exist,
                                        grant us nothing but suffering. ❞

                    ❝ Personally, I’ve given up on such fantasies. ❞

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

                It’s so easy to give into the burn
        in her guts, the acrid stench of soiled
        flesh churning within her. Sansa looks
        at Rickon, still so wild even at his age,
        and she can’t help the resentment. He
        is her brother, this is her family. How
        can you possibly do that to family?

               Hypocrisy is unbecoming of a lady
        or did she forget the way she ran to the
        queen, her father’s plans on the tip of 
        her tongue all so she can marry ‘that
        blonde yapper’. It may not have been
        the catalyst but it is her betrayal all the
        same. The thought sobers her, like a 
        cold bucket of water over her head. 

               Azure eyes avert themselves, fists
        clenched tightly as she wills away the
        memory of her father’s head on a pike.
        Regret washes out the anger, guilt tides
        in like an ocean wave. Sansa finds her
        body slumping forward, exhaustion set
        in her bones. Please, speak no more.

              “I’m sorry. Please, pardon me. It
        was callous of me to say as much to
        you. I know nothing of your suffering
        but you have suffered.”

               She looks at him, really looks at
        him. Not the boy he was before or the
        actions he took but the man he is now.
        We are no different, you and I.

               "Stay a while. We shall be supping
        soon. I’ll have the servants ready rooms
        for you.“