[fieldbox=Sansa Stark; Winterfell's Daughter, #676799, solid, 0, georgia]
The silver Tully pendant around her neck could not bring her comfort now. A gift from her lady mother, Sansa had kept and cherished the necklace over the years she was apart from home, praying every night that she would one day return to the walls of Winterfell. Sansa fiddled with Catelyn's pendant as she watched the wintery horizon grow dark with the stain of a brewing war, another that she must face from inside castle walls.
I wish the Hound were here, she thought,
to offer me a way out again. I wouldn't be so foolish as to refuse him a second time.
"My dear," came a voice preceding an open door.
That voice. Sansa dared not turn. She kept her eyes fixed on the single window of her room, transporting her spirit to a distant place so Ramsay could not touch it. Hands slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. Lips met the side of her neck. She did not cringe, did not protest, did not move. She would not grant him the satisfaction of any reaction at all.
"You look lovely. My beautiful wife."
Sansa said nothing. She continued to toy with the pendant between her fingers, watching the distant soldiers form lines and prepare their weapons for siege. Ramsay kissed her ear.
"Do you want those men to win?"
That's a trick question. Despite the hatred, she new her husband well. Sansa took in a deep breath and sighed.
"I'm not sure," she said honestly.
"I can't trust Stannis. But I can trust him more than you and the Lannisters, which is a start." Slowly, she removed herself from his grasp and turned to face him, meeting his dark eyes with challenge.
"Stannis understands birthright more than your father, though. He knows who Winterfell truly belongs to."
Ramsay was not oblivious to her meaning. His nostrils flared with anger, a look Sansa knew all too well.
"Ever-fiery, my bride. You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut." He raised a fist to strike her. Sansa did not flinch. She took the blow with grace, her back colliding with the wall as she stumbled backwards and her lip split open. She had learned that her bruises were scars of survival more than inconveniences and pain. Every strike against her would be repaid to Ramsay tenfold. She had to believe that.
The Seven may have left, but Father's gods won't abandon me here.
Sansa refused to look away from his eyes when Ramsay lunged forward, wrapping his hand around her throat and squeezing.
"Tonight, you'll wish you hadn't said that. When I'm done flaying Stannis and all his little men, who do you think I'll come for next?"
She knew.
Oh, she knew. And while her exterior was hard as stone and silent, the pits of her heart begged the gods for mercy.
"I'll see you tonight, darling." Ramsay finished his threat with a kiss to the cheek, light as a feather, a gesture that was meant for romance. Sansa would not see it as such for a long time. Ramsay took his leave, a stunned Reek trailing after him to the best of his limping ability, and the door was locked behind them.
Only when they were gone did Sansa allow herself to cry. Sobs burst from her lips and she covered them with her hand, trying to stay quiet, not wanting anyone to hear. She curled up on the floor against the wall and cried until she was able to pull herself together, cried for mercy, cried in agony and all she'd been meant to suffer. And when she was done, she stood from the stone floor of her prison with determination.
"I hope you die out there," she spat. Sansa picked up the weapon she'd stolen mere days before and waited until Bolton banners littered the horizon and the fighting began. She unlocked her door, snatched her candle, and escaped with a hood draped over her auburn hair.
If I'm going to die, let it happen while there's still some of me left.[/fieldbox]