Sansa
She felt the winter sun as the cold light of day crept up on her right cheek. Slowly, she rearranged her conscious from the lack-lustre slumber that took her away for the night and soft-focused into reality. Hazily, she got up and half-stumbled across to her vanity table.
The mark, under her left eye, was bulbous, bruised and bright red.
She lifted a ghostly finger to it, pressed. It hurt.
Clumsily, she searched for some pressed powder and a puff. She found it. She dab, dab dabbed away at the thing until it left a white ring around her eye. She blended it. It was no good, it was still red and still there. Slightly giving up, she looked at herself, then. Properly, her whole face, hair, everything. And hated it so much she became nauseous…
Sansa knew she was beautiful. Not because she thought it herself, no, but because everyone else told her that. And everyone else was right, but her. She thought herself pretty, prettier than most other girls she knew her age, but there was always a stray hair lingering on her brow, or a cheek a shade to red for her liking. But everywhere she went, the word 'beautiful' seemed to stalk her like some lonely, delicate shadow, clinging onto her since the bells chimed to mark her coming into this world. 'Beautiful.' 'Beautiful hair, just like your mother….eyes…just like your mother…cheekbones as tall as your mothers when she was your age…."
Her beauty was what had gotten her to King's Landing, gave her to Joffrey and imprisoned her here. If she was ugly, then Joff would have not looked at her twice. But she was, so he did.
It was the world that was ugly. She wanted to go away…not die, as such, no. Just away. Away from Joffrey, away from the Realm. Westeros…although Essos was not far enough. She just wanted to feel numb, nothing. Not even happiness. She did not know whether she could feel that anymore; it had been taken from her in death and loneliness, her heart bursting a vessel with every strain.
She glanced at her face. Despair. It would have to do, the blotchy piece of powder clinging onto the mark like a ghost not wanting to leave the Earth.
"Lady Sansa? Are you woken?"
Shae opened the door slowly, as if not to disturb a sleeping cat.
"Ah, you're already at your table. Will you let me brush out your hair? It's a busy day for you, my Lady. Are you hungry? I-"
"If you please, Shae, I am not much in the mood for talking. Brush out my hair." The solemn look she gave her indicated what she was going to say next.
"My Lady, I know this isn't how you wanted your life to be. Not in this way. But maybe, once you are married to King Joffrey, your life will be easier."
"Easier? The daughter of a traitor marrying into royalty? Is that easier? It sounds like torture to me." She was not going to cry, not today.
The exotic hand of Shae found its way on a strand of auburn, and twirled it round gently in her fingers. "You will always have me here, Sansa. You will, always."
She turned to look at the Lorathi handmaiden, unaware of the fact she was showing her bruised side. "I know I will. You can't ever leave, I won't let you."
Shae cast a rainy smile. "Exactly. Now, how about we try and cover up that bruise?" Sansa nodded thickly.
"After all, a girl has to look her best on her wedding day."