"How did it happen that their lives came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit on the hill?
And all was said. " – Reimagining of a quote by Victor Hugo
SANSA
The snow on the ground sparked a fire in her heart. She remembered, then. Remembered everything; those sweet, year-round winters as a child, her sister, her brothers, her beautiful mother and brazen father. Even Jon and Theon, she thought, even those were stored in memory that seemed lost in rubble. Until now, when she looked on the place she thought never would be within view ever again.
Winterfell was a shadow of what it once had been. Of course, she was a fool to think it would be otherwise. Broken, bent and surrounded by the North's blizzards, this was a Winterfell designed to stand in the Seventh Hell of her death's fate. A moment happened, where she scanned through the landscape to try and attempt to piece all of te lost towers, bridges and little homes that were once her reality. She imagined those being each one of her family members. "All cremated into the hard ice...and I am the one that endures."
She thought it the greatest irony that she, Sansa Stark, timid and red of hair, was the remaining heir to Winterfell, the ancient Stark dwelling. She wondered if some of her family members in the crypts winced at her returning, wondering if it was all worth it, if she was the victor of this political injustice. Alas, here she was, posing as a Bastard with a horrid dye covering her ancestral locks. Maybe she fit in better here, now.
"My Lady," she heard the voice channelling her back into the present moment, "you are home."
"Yes." If this was home, then she was an imposter.