"Little bird," The Hound's coaxing voice came echoing from beyond the shadows, calling hoarsely out for her.
Sansa closed her eyes, suddenly nervous. Though she was almost always uncomfortable by his presence and desperate to be rid of him, she did not know why.
It was true that he was an intimidating man but, in truth, it was simply the way he stared at her that frightened her the most – as though she was the most fragile and precious gem in the world. Nobody had ever looked upon her in that way before, not even Joffrey when she been blindingly infatuated with him.
How quickly that feeling for him faded, she thought bitterly.
Tap, tap, tap…
There were his feet, gliding across the floor towards her – exactly like a dog, crawling humbly closer to its owner. If only he had come to her with his tail between his legs.
"Tell me, sweet Sansa,"
"–does the bird still sing from behind her cage?"
Sansa's jaw locked, her teeth set together in a desperate attempt to silence herself. Against her better judgement, she turned to face him – and what she found caused her temper to flare drastically, just as he knew it would.
A mocking smile occupied his mouth and his eyes glittered, amidst the darkness, with malice.
The words she had been yearning to spit at the Hound were forcing themselves up and, unable to control herself in a flash of fury, Sansa let them flow.
"Very well, I'll sing you a song if that's what you wish. I can think of one, in particular." She hissed, her previously well-hidden anger finally seeping into her words like a poisonous venom.
"This is a song of a doomed kingdom. There, boys are disguised as knights and it's filled with villains who call themselves kings; blood is as valued as gold and the death, murder and outright slaughter of battle is what counts as glory. There is no honour here," With that, she gestured around them, "There is only corruption."
Sansa then paused and leaned closer to the man before her. He was staring down at her with wide eyes, lips parted as if he were about to speak.
She could feel each warm, ragged breath on her skin as his chest constricted and she knew, with some satisfaction, that he had been hanging off of her every word and was waiting for what she had to say next.
In a small act of kindness, Sansa reached up and allowed her fingertips to linger against the twisted, heavily-scarred side of his face. Bringing her voice down to a hushed and private whisper, she spoke to him softly. Though, her voice held an underlying menace.
"And in this game of thrones, we will all burn."