Her gaze drops, her shoulders rise again. Shame threatens now to drown her, all of her well-learned courtesies filling her mouth, but Sansa is not an animal. She is too genteel to fight and too well-trained to fly and so she remains rooted in her chair despite her squirming, hands curling in the folds of her dress but finding no comfort in the action. Light catches the pin affixed at Littlefinger's throat, the silver affectation of a mockingbird he wears constantly. It is only now that Sansa realizes that this is a lie, that Lord Petyr Baelish is no bird despite all of his talk of singing and lessons. If anything he is a snake, but one so simply and beautifully disguised that Sansa suspects she would choose to sit willingly amongst his coils, even as they threaten to tighten around her.
Sansa's innocence is no longer complete -- it split in twain the moment Ser Ilyn had lifted his sword -- but enough of it clings to her that she does not know the true depth or meaning of what she is faced with. Would the wolf lie with the snake to find her fangs? Would she hide behind his venom and pretend to still be a bird?
( at baelful )
( threads )(
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( playlist )(
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( album )(
the hazards of love, by the decemberists )