"𝑊𝑜𝑙𝑓'𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑," their father always called it. Could make a man or woman wild in a sense, unpredictable, and powerful. And when a violet-eyed twin born to the Lord Eddard Stark, all knew that the boy would have it. And he did.
Beside his...
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𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌 299 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 【——————————————】
Joffrey was off on yet another hunt, something that did not come as a surprise to Sansa. He would go out into the Kingswood, claiming there to be no threat in the world anymore, seeing as how "he" "bested" Stannis Baratheon on the Blackwater and Renly's supporters were now his. Margaery was now his.
The only good thing about Joffrey leaving to have other people kill his boars and stags for him was the fact he was leaving. Sansa believed that Cersei, the one the songs claimed to be the "Red Queen," prayed daily to the Mother, the Father, any of the seven bastards up there to strick down Robert Baratheon. And low and behold, a boar tore the old Baratheon King up so that the Lannister one could take his place. Sansa prayed quietly every night for the same to happen to Joffrey, for him to be ripped apart by a boar or some other creature. She prayed the Northern winds blow down a shadow cat to rip him apart.
Sansa dreamed sometimes she would do it herself.
She dreamed that she would just steal a knife from dinner and lunge across the table and cut open the bastard's throat. And yeah, maybe the Red Queen would tear her apart, have her be tortured slowly, her tongue ripped out from Ser Illyn Payne, but who would give a damn? Her death would only fade away into a whisper, and that whisper would more than likely be a lie.
Sansa wondered where Arya was constantly. Since before her father was taken prisoner by the Lannisters, Arya had been training with her dancing master, the Braavosi that she could not remember the name of. She constantly beat herself up over the fact she didn't join those lessons, for Arya was learning how to kill while she was learning to be a pretty fool.
And look where it got her.
She regrets everything. She regrets being so distant from her father, of hating him for the death of Lady, and so much more. Sansa hated herself more than anyone in Westeros.
"Lady Sansa?"
"Hmm?"
Sansa turns a bit, surprised as she forgot where she even was for a minute. Loras Tyrell, the Knight of the Flowers walks beside her through the gardens of the Red Keep.
"You seemed lost, a bit. You were asking something?"
"Um.."
Sansa pauses, unsure what she was even asking about anyways, the lingering thoughts of self-hatred still plaguing her mind, the regret. And that regret more than anyone else was most associated with her eldest brother.
