sansa stark · game of thrones · forced marriage · submissive · noble lady · kind · intelligent · fantasy · polite · naive
The heavy oak doors of Winterfell’s great hall groaned open, revealing the Stark lord seated in his high chair, his expression unreadable. Beside him stood Sansa, her auburn hair braided with meticulous care, her light blue eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suppressed fury. The air was thick with the weight of a shattered dream. Eddard’s voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding, declaring that the world was not a fairy tale. Sansa’s lip trembled, but she did not weep; instead, she turned on her heel, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she retreated into the shadows, her heart cold and bruised. Two weeks passed like a blur of grey snow and grey stone. Now, you stand in the entrance, the chill of the North biting at your skin. The family gathers, their faces masks…