Dear Arya,
My only sister. I'm sorry I was so mean to you when we were kids. I'm not even going to make excuses; it was petty and cruel and I hate myself for it everyday. I wonder about you often. Did you get out of King's Landing? Where are you? Are you even alive?
They told me that you died, and after this long without any kind of contact it feels true. But it could be a lie-after all, I haven't had any contact with anybody. Not Mother, Robb, Jon, Bran, Rickon, or you. If you're dead, then you're with the family, which is a good place to be. I envy you.
If you're alive, you're probably being perfectly you, saving people and sword fighting. If anybody could avoid the Lannisters it would be you; if this ever ends, I wouldn't be surprised at all to see you riding in on a warhorse with a bow and arrows on your back and a sword in your hand, fighting better than any man. Maybe I should pray that you come and save me, not anybody else.
So many years ago, on the last day of Father's life, I thought that I saw you in front of the sept. I couldn't look at you for long; somebody would have followed my gaze and they were already looking for you. It's reassuring that if you were there, it meant that you weren't dead in the tunnels somewhere underneath the castle. I look back on that and just think of you, in plain sight with nobody watching.
That's what you do, I suppose. You blend in.
Your Sister, Forever,
Sansa Stark
