Disclaimer: I do not own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a must for my own delight.

A/N: I have been working on this story, more puttering through it than anything for so long that I don't even recall it's original inspiration. I hope you enjoy it enough to leave reviews. I appreciate constructive criticism as well as praise. If you are going to be rude though, I ask you to keep your comments to yourself.

Sansa tried to look upset as Joffrey announced that she was to be set aside in favour of Margaery Tyrell when all she really wanted to do was squeal in delight and dance. The King had stared at her intently as he said each word and Sansa tried not to feel unnerved at his speech. Her false fear turned true when he continued with his announcements.

"Lady Sansa, of House Stark; approach the throne to claim punishments for the disloyalty of your treasonous family."

She knew that smirk, she knew it well. She was going to die, she was sure of it. With trembling steps, she made her way down to the main level, gripping the banister so she wouldn't fall. She walked tall and proud between the crowds, crimson shadows surrounding her every step. She had never felt as intimidated as she did under the judgemental gaze of Tywin Lannister. Still, she refused to give in.

"Your Grace," she greeted Joffrey. "I am pleased you have found a woman worthy of your affections and your family," she continued, trying to sound sincere but her voice quivering in betrayal.

"Oh shut up, you idiot," he sneered, watching her wince. "Afraid are you? It's about time you've learned proper respect." It had always bothered him that she seemed to feel she was so much better than him.

Sansa's gaze flicked back and forth between Joffrey and the Queen. Surely Cersei wouldn't allow this. Her twin was still held hostage. He would unquestionably die when word of her death reached Riverrun. Under Joffrey's silent and pretentious gaze, Sansa stilled and awaited her fate.

Despite the surety of his words, Joffrey had not quite come up with a suitable way to deal with Sansa. He hated her, that was true; but he knew killing her was out of the question. His Lord Grandfather would not stand for it. Under normal circumstances, Joffrey would just toss her to his dog but the Hound had disappeared during the Battle of the Blackwater. Some soldiers said he had fled but Joffrey didn't believe them. He now had those same soldiers prodding through piles of corpses to find him. Sandor Clegane was the fiercest man he knew; save for his brother, The Mountain. He would not flee. Joffrey glanced at his mother and took note of her apprehension. 'Women, weak women' was the only thought to enter his mind. Then her pet came to his mind.

"Mother, you will have Qyburn tend to Sansa. I am sure he can come up with a proper punishment for a traitors' whelp."

"Joffrey..." she began before being cut off.

"Mother, she will go to Qyburn. He is not to kill her. Just punish her."

"Very well," she nodded weakly before gesturing to a guard to take Sansa away.

Sansa had never heard of this 'Qyburn' before but the pit of fear in her gut still tightened and grew despite that. She was too fearful to even fight the guards as they lifted her off the floor.

The guards took her down, down, down and farther down. She was sure she had reached one of the Seven Hells. Nothing else could be so dank, dark and wretched. The very stone smelled of the terror and anguish the walls had endured. Eventually, she couldn't even hear the rats. They did finally stop and she could hear the fumbling of keys before the heavy creaking of an old door. A guard pushed her in the direction of the doors where her wrist was grabbed by an unseen hand. The guards did not follow. She listened as the door was again closed and barred behind her. Shortly after, the screaming began.

When she awoke, she wasn't sure where she was or whether it was day or night or how many days had passed. She knew she wasn't in that terrible hole anymore; there was a soft bed under her and the scent of the room was of fresh rushes on the floor. She sat up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, they felt so heavy, but she couldn't even open them.

"No, milady. You mustn't do that. You'll irritate them."

Sansa felt groggy and confused. "Irritate them? Irritate what?" she asked the stranger in a panic; her hands immediately going to her face. It was heavily draped in gauze bandages. An unimaginable feeling of horror spread over her in waves as she began to claw at the fabric. The apparent stranger did her best to restrain the young girl but Sansa still managed to tear through them. When she finally managed to reach her face, it was sticky with salve but she could still feel the hard ridges of freshly-forming scar tissue. They had burned her. She tried to clear her eyes; something was stopping her from seeing but she had to see what they did to her. What was her punishment for her father and brothers actions? When she tried to take away whatever was there to find her eyes were opened, but she was blind. She reached out in panic to the voice that kept talking to her. The voice kept talking but Sansa couldn't understand the words. Her hands went to the girls' arms, shoulders, over softly hewn fabric, and over thick curly hair.

"Shae?" she asked in a quavering voice, "is that you? What has happened to me? Who did this?" She gripped her handmaid's shoulders as tightly as she could manage in her weak grip.

Shae explained as gently as she could that her beautiful auburn hair that she coveted so much was shorn, and the man they called Qyburn had held her for many days. No one was sure what all they did to her other than what was visible. He had used some sort of acid on her, let it heal for a few days and applied it again. Both eyes were blinded and there was angry scarring across her face. Sansa wanted to weep away her grief but they had even deprived her of that small mercy. The tears could not come.