Puppeteer:
I'm a slow learner, but I learn.
I almost pitied the man as he dropped to his knees, eyes wide in fear.
There is no justice in this world, unless we make it.
He was repeating my name like a mantra, begging me to forgive his sins. I think he's such a good liar that he's even convinced himself he can atone. But Littlefinger forgets that I know what it's like to beg, plead. I thought of those moments then, each one another plate to my armor. My armor is nothing like Brianne's. My armor is composed of lessons, each one serves to protect and fight back against those who would use and abuse me.
I had not been spared the sight of my father's head on a spike, Joffrey's twisted fantasies, the Red Wedding, the forceful taking of any innocence I had left and the loss of two brothers. Father had once sheltered me from the wickedness of man, but I am exposed now.
I had been playing very close attention.
This wasn't a game of thrones, it was a game of wits and we had finally outsmarted the puppeteer.
It was Arya who sliced his throat, but I imagined my own hand. He would bleed out for his sins; he would go to his grave a disgraced and utterly naked usurper. Petyr Baelish didn't have to suffer for long, my sister Arya was precise and swift. This would be the only shred of mercy I could grant to him.
I wonder if father would agree that watching Ramsay be eaten by his own dogs and now Petyr sliced by a dagger he had used to plot against my family was justice. I thought he might.
This world had not been kind to little girls and I had been so naive to think it would be. I exchanged a knowing look with Arya as we looked north towards an enemy neither of us had seen. The first men had helped to create monsters. I saw no reason why women couldn't be the ones to kill them.