Sofiya was thinking about him again. He was a cunning lord with a slender build and sharp features. Her life was crumbling to pieces until she met the clever man with emotionless, gray-green eyes and a penchant for commerce, manipulation, and political improvisation. Before even meeting him, she had taken an instant disliking to Petyr Baelish after Illyrio shared with her the stories of Littlefinger's avaricious and calculating ways.
However, when Sofiya's life was in danger, Petyr rose to the occasion to help her. From that moment on, she began to notice that Petyr was actually rather hopeful and somewhat considerate at times.
Sofiya walked over to the window and reflected on her snowy surroundings. She hated the North with its bitter, unforgiving cold. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel concerned. She longed for the gentle winter breeze of Pentos, the sky becoming clear and crisp as the sunshine broke through the fog on Lorath Bay in Bravoos. The winters in Essos were nothing compared to this misery.
Then Sofiya saw something in the distance, or rather someone approaching the tower where her quarters were situated. The small figure made haste through the snow flurries and she recognized at once that it was the same man her thoughts had just lingered from moments ago. She gulped and turned to glance at her own reflection in her dressing mirror. Her long raven locks were braided to reveal a charming face and glinting gray eyes. Smooth skin complimented her cheekbones and left all with a satisfying memory of her fortunate looks.
This is my face, Sofiya thought to herself, the face responsible for so much of my misfortune. She was aware that there was something captivating and seductive about her appearance, but she wished that she were more plain; overlooked, unalarming, disregarded. Beauty is a curse, she thought to herself; for she could turn heads and entice men, but she would never be seen as more than that. In Braavos, her comeliness brought her enough respect to lay with some of the most powerful magisters and keyholders before being deceived into a treacherous marriage arrangement. In Pentos, her allure opened the gates to wealth and power until it jeopardized her very life. In Westeros, nothing had changed - men saw her as nothing but an object of desire. She wanted more.
Despite becoming more in-tune with sensing Petyr's hidden intentions, Sofiya was not prepared for what he had in store that day. Snowflakes fluttered through the window like dancing white faeries, making Sofiya shiver. She grabbed the tattered dagger that had been strewn at her bedside nearby; she massaged the sharp tip with her fingers gently.