Alayne woke up with a gasp. She had had a horrible nightmare, about her being married to the monstrous Bastard of Bolton in Winterfell..even worse, she remembered that she could have refused, or ran away, or asked for help, but had decided to go along with it for some obscure reason and thus ended up saying her vows before the Old Gods.
As if it weren't all awful enough, after that, the marriage was consummated!
The icing on the cake had been some cruelly deformed version of Theon Greyjoy that just..stood there the whole time, witnessing the act. Seriously, why that turncloak, of all people! He was supposed to be dead!
Oh gods, what was she thinking? How could she even dream of something so dreadful? Her only relief was that her shame would forever remain a secret from the world. Yet it had all felt so real, somehow, and wrong, as if she was forced to take part in a ridiculous farce..
But then, suddenly, Sansa felt a surge of relief, as she realized Petyr Baelish would never actually let something like that ever happen to her, so she decided to have some breakfast to clear her mind. While happily munching on a lemon cake she had stolen from little Lord Robert's plate, she wondered..who in the seven hells was that Miranda girl supposed to be, anyway?