Fic; Bitter Heart ( Arya/Sansa, GoT )
Title: Bitter Heart
Pairing/Characters: Arya/Sansa (GoT/ASoIaF)
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Summary: She can't fight the pounding in the shell of her chest, and the swell of her heart. Something similar to adoration, akin to love---hid there.
Spoilers: None. It's just a drabble to show the contrast between the Stark sisters.
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Her sister. A delicate flower. Wrapped with the naivety of a young girl, and the ignorance to boot. Sansa Stark was perfection in human form. Fiery hair, timid personality. Perfect for a queen, which the older one so dreamt of being. Producing heirs, and mothering children. Gentle with her touches, and soft spoken. She had the girliest of hands, clean and petite.
But, Arya was the opposite. A she-wolf born from the dirt and mud with earth under her unkept finger nails. With no manners, and a lack of respect for others. Her dreams didn't involve any sort of nursing, or something homely. And her hands were similar to those of a man, downsized. Scars littered them, and many callouses covered the palm from several jousts with a sword.
Arya disliked her sister so.
She couldn't help but to scowl at the mention of Sansa, the dislike clearly etched onto her young face. It wasn't her sister's name that brought a bitter taste to the mouth, but that of all the approval the older one recieved. She wooed men, and charmed the court with the flutter of eyelashes.
She can't fight the pounding in the shell of her chest, and the swell of her heart. Something similar to adoration, akin to love---hid there. A little twinge, a skipped beat, for Sansa. She hated to love her sister so.
Pairing/Characters: Arya/Sansa (GoT/ASoIaF)
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Summary: She can't fight the pounding in the shell of her chest, and the swell of her heart. Something similar to adoration, akin to love---hid there.
Spoilers: None. It's just a drabble to show the contrast between the Stark sisters.
--
Her sister. A delicate flower. Wrapped with the naivety of a young girl, and the ignorance to boot. Sansa Stark was perfection in human form. Fiery hair, timid personality. Perfect for a queen, which the older one so dreamt of being. Producing heirs, and mothering children. Gentle with her touches, and soft spoken. She had the girliest of hands, clean and petite.
But, Arya was the opposite. A she-wolf born from the dirt and mud with earth under her unkept finger nails. With no manners, and a lack of respect for others. Her dreams didn't involve any sort of nursing, or something homely. And her hands were similar to those of a man, downsized. Scars littered them, and many callouses covered the palm from several jousts with a sword.
Arya disliked her sister so.
She couldn't help but to scowl at the mention of Sansa, the dislike clearly etched onto her young face. It wasn't her sister's name that brought a bitter taste to the mouth, but that of all the approval the older one recieved. She wooed men, and charmed the court with the flutter of eyelashes.
She can't fight the pounding in the shell of her chest, and the swell of her heart. Something similar to adoration, akin to love---hid there. A little twinge, a skipped beat, for Sansa. She hated to love her sister so.