She's never seen death before. She sees it now.
Afterwards, her tears turn the world into a blur, but it doesn't help, because she still sees everything.
Afterwards, she doesn't remember screaming, but her throat is sore. The hurt barely registers. No one is listening anyway.
Afterwards, she examines the cold fire burning in her. It's name is hate, she is suprised to discover. She's never hated like this before.
Afterwards, she tries to put the shards of her broken fairytale back together.
And she dreams of a world where a daugther does not have to watch her father die.
A/N: Huh. It's Sansa again. How strange.
[Reviews are like chocolate. They make me happy. - And I do need something to cheer me up. R.I.P Ned Stark.]