#sing; memory}

[doornig]

⊱ in the lion's den.

She is a wolf, restrained by imaginary shackles that with every passing day only seem to tighten their grip -- never fighting back cruelty but crumbling against those constant torments was a pleasure she was unwilling to grant. Her fangs were constantly bared and yet, they were all too foolish to understand the strength of Winterfell's blood.

And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place      But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace

Fear assaults thoughts once filled of hope. Naivety exchanged for strength and dubiety, forbidding acceptance and kindness at the cost of shielding an already damaged person. She can only wait, expect for a change or else her life will soon reach its end -- looking at the window, realizing how every part belonging to those environs will always be foreign. From the walls of this castle to its exterior, bird's chirping soon fades and welcomes a more saddening picture where she must as well pay for the mistakes of another.

        Wolf mother, where you've been? You look so worn, so thin

Falsehood brims this crude world and increases loneliness, home turning more distant as day go on and waking up is a burdensome task because whenever daylight hits her sleepy factions, she must be reminded of how this is not home and she will never be allowed to return -- until when? The answer dangles in silky fingers that clutch desperately on her frame, cheap excuse of comfort; putting in shame the tender love she dared to sacrifice due her own idiocy and can only dream of being embraced again by the familiar warmth from the northern lands.

See it fall, child of wolf         Lend a mending hand...

[doornig]

⊱ auburn ❴event❵

Arranging preparations before leaving can be a tedious but entertaining activity, mainly when most focused on physical presentation. Every detail refined, specially her hair, that was now being brushed with a comb she found in her drawer this morning -- perhaps it was her outstanding feature due its light auburn tone that honored her mother's genes. Speaking of, today both would spend some time together, an occasion planned out of the blue but sharing a meal sounded like a decent idea. Sansa owed plenty to her progenitor, problems are common but that's a constant in everyone's life, was it not?

Her reflection was observed, an eyebrow raising in confusion when everything seemed to change behind. Perhaps the details were the most outstanding point, how from normalcy now all resembled a perfect imitation of a medieval era. Walls of rock, a room illuminated by the dim flames of candles.

Although everything is silent, it is not uncomfortable nor disturbing, merely perplexing for she is unsure how to take the picture presented before her eyes. Calm and serene, the strange monotony found in this scene left a heartwarming sensation despite how ...particular it seemed. A woman was merely brushing the hair of a younger girl in the comfortability of a room, words rarely exchanged in between but the conversation was fairly difficult to hear. Other than physical factions, mainly how delighted both females were -- 'Isn't that me?'She was certain that would be the case, she cannot mistake herself from another regardless of the attire.

The comb slipped from her fingers, breaking what stole more than a handful of seconds from her time, a realization that didn't grant an opportunity to digest what she saw. Strange, never bordering into a hateful spectrum and mainly not uneasy, it was an emotion she recognized rather well that could only be shared among her loved ones. 

'No, now is not the moment,' she reprimanded herself before any more ideas dared to turn into a distraction, it didn't hurt anyone to fantasize but it was about to get her in trouble if she continued playing with the thought -- at least she could reaffirm for sure this would be a day to enjoy, she would make sure of it. No need to think about trivialities, right?