The dull browns of autumn blanch grey, then white. The Stark words echo around Winterfell and the icy touch in the air begins to seep steadily into the castle stones. It will be months at the very least before Catelyn can shake off the tight, brittle movements of the frozen and walk fluidly again through the castle and yard, before she can sit with any degree of comfort more than a few feet from the warm reassurance of a fire. More likely it will be years. She is shocked to find a few fine greys in her mass of auburn hair, and then less shocked; she is fading like everything else in the faint winter light. How much older will she be, she thinks, if spring ever comes
( ... )
You've done a wonderful job with language in this story; your phrasing is extremely evocative. The North feels so desolate and forbidding in this story; you really capture how overwhelmed Cat is by it all. The idea of her "fading" like the landscape surrounding her is beautiful and poignant. And then the end- wow. Gorgeous work!
Oooooh, this is so, so beautiful. You can feel the desolution of the North. I always thought that if the winter is hard for a northerner, it would be infinitely harder for someone from the South.
I love Ned trying to do little things to comfort her and make her more at ease, but it's still just so overwhelming. That's what comes through so much in the piece - how crushing the change is.
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I love Ned trying to do little things to comfort her and make her more at ease, but it's still just so overwhelming. That's what comes through so much in the piece - how crushing the change is.
Beautifully beautifully done!!! <333
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