The moon of the Erie hung low, lighting the walls of the castle, casting shadows across Sansa's face as she peered through her bedroom window. The cold of the night penetrated the glass and brushed against Sansa's pale skin. She could feel the start of winter through her night gown. Snowflakes drifted down from the sky.
Sansa touched her fingers to the cool glass, watching the white fluff fall from the dark blue sky. She closed her eyes and imagined Winterfell covered in lovely sheets of snow. She use to get up early, before the servants rose, just to see the thick, untouched hills of snow over the courtyard. Sansa had grown to hate the cold, but now the heat of King's Landing had too many terrible memories.
In the courtyard below her, Sansa could almost see and hear Robb and John fighting, the ring of sword on sword. Arya watching from the sidelines, trying to join in whenever she could. Her mother, her beautiful mother, standing behind Sansa, her warm hands on Sansa's shoulder. Sansa tried to remember what it felt like to be touched with love, her mother's gentle love. Sansa reached out desperate to feel, only to find the numbing cold at her fingertips.
How long had it been since her father kissed her hair? Since her mother pulled her in and held her tight? Sansa could not remember. Too long, she knew. And she would never feel their touch again. Tears rolled down Sansa's cheeks, leaving cold streaks on her skin. Her breath came out in soft white clouds. She shuddered as she breathed in. Outside the walls of her small room, Sansa had not allowed herself to cry. In this windowsill, she was safe in her vulnerability.
Her hands shook with the need to beloved; though she could not remember how love felt, she wanted love more than anything in the entire world. The day Joffrey killed her father and mother, a hole in the pit of her stomach tore open, and she was afraid she could never fill it again. Her bed was cold and empty, no matter how many warmers the maids put beneath the covers. The halls were empty, and Sansa wondered if she could truly feel anymore. Her heart was frozen, and would not thaw until spring.
A soft knock echoed through the room. Sansa stood, quickly wiping away her tears She cleared her throat, "Come in."
The heavy wood door swung open softly and Petyr Baelish stepped in, his feet whispering across the floor. He closed the door behind him and stood in the moonlight with Sansa.
"Lord Baelish." Sansa curtsied.
"There is no need for formalities, you know that." His soft voice swam through the air. He cocked his head, not a greying hair out of place, "Have you been crying? What is wrong, my dear Sansa?" Petyr placed his hand on Sansa's cheek and brushed a tear away.
Sansa breathed deeply; a fresh flow of tears ran over her pale skin, "Oh, Petyr…"
Sansa stepped forward, burying her face in Petyr's shoulder. He hesitated then pulled her closer, brushing her auburn hair, holding her as a man holds a woman. "Shh… Shh… What is the matter, my sweet?"
Sansa sighed as the tear in the pit of her stomach subsided. As the weight was lifted, she fell into Petyr's arms. "Just hold me... Please… Just hold me."
"Of course." Petyr brushed away a strand of her hair and kissed her head. "I will always stay with you.