:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

        As a child, Sansa grew up in Winterfell
where songs are scarce and bards earn
little singing in their halls. Yet, this does 
naught to curb her love for them, music
ringing in her head where no one else can
seem to hear. She developed a love for
dancing, spinning around with an imaginary
partner, giggling coquettishly at a prince who
isn’t there. 

         "Dance with me, Robb!“ she’ll ask of
him, carmine locks curling around her ears.
Her laugh seems to thaw even the coldest
of nights when he twirls her around, more
times than not, their dancing a haphazard
jump and spin that will end in a tumble of
flushed faces and barely hidden giggles.

         It’s her lord father that indulges her the
most; carefully fitting her small hands in his,
humming almost certainly off-key but in time.
He will look her in the eyes, lead her in circles
around the solar while a pregnant Catelyn
watches on. She sways so gracefully, feels so
special in those moments. Love in its various
adaptations seem to bloom in those quiet nights.

        Sansa even watched her lord father and
lady mother dance once, and the way he strokes
her hair is the way dreams unfurl in our little lady’s
mind. One day, she thinks with childish optimism.

                                                         ｏｎｅ ｄａｙ．