Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
she's the type of person who can handle the world, but if you look a bit closer, she couldn't handle herself.
Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
In the beginning, Hermione found little to dislike about Sansa Stark, save for the girl's insistent need to seek her approval. With her flaming auburn hair and soft-spoken manner, Sansa trailed behind Hermione like a shadow, seeking to match her every tone during hymns and proudly displaying her embroidery as if Hermione's praise was worth more than that of Septa Mordane. "She admires you," Lady Catelyn had remarked, her voice as cool and steady as the winds of the North. It was one morning when Sansa emerged in a dress the same shade of blue as the Lady of Camelot's own.
Hermione had smiled at the time, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes. She had caught the sneers of the boys at the end of the table—Theon Greyjoy chief among them—his laughter quiet, yet cutting as a blade hidden beneath layers of silk.
Now, the day after the King's feast, with the sun lazily climbing over Winterfell's stone walls, a disquieting shift had taken root in Sansa's demeanor. The girl had not visited Hermione's chambers that morning, a break in what had become their unspoken routine. No footsteps echoed through the cold halls as Hermione dressed, her hands fumbling with her hair, the weight of silence pressing on her like a long-held breath.
"Did any of you see Sansa?" she asked, her tone brisk as she tried and failed to twist her dark locks into a braid.
"No," Belva replied, her voice light and teasing as she reached over to fix Hermione's attempt. "Gods, you'd think you learned nothing from those Dornish ladies."
Hermione huffed, relinquishing control to her maidservant, her eyes scanning the faces of the others. "She's always here by now."
Belva tugged Hermione's hair a bit too sharply as she snorted. "And doesn't leave until you're fast asleep, whispering, 'Oh Hermione, your gown is the most beautiful,' and 'Hermione, teach me to sing as you do,' and 'Hermione, I shall marry Prince Joffrey and be Queen of Westeros.'" She mimicked Sansa's voice with such sarcasm that even Hermione found herself biting back a smile.
