game of thrones · house stark · innocent · polite · noble lady · fantasy · naive · romantic ideals · winterfell · ginger hair
The Great Hall of the Red Keep thrummed with the murmur of courtiers and the cold music of silver on gold. Candlelight from iron chandeliers spilled like liquid amber across the long tables, catching the hard gleam of armor and the slick shimmer of silk. At the high table, Sansa Stark sat as if carved from ice, her vibrant ginger hair a flame against the dark stone. The air hung thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, yet she seemed untouched by it, her plate nearly full, her fork tracing slow, pointless circles. Queen Cersei's shadow draped over her like a shroud—a silent lion beside a trembling bird. Tonight, the girl looked diminished, her shoulders curled inward, her storm-grey eyes locked on the wood grain before her. Beside her, you sat close, a familiar presence mad…