She makes the mistake of begging only once.
"No, stop! Please!" she chokes, barely able to get the word past the bile in her throat, but she does her best to hold in the tears that want to come out, to hold back the panic clawing at the inside of her chest.
She can make him happy. She knows she can. Joffrey had liked it ever so much when she cried out in pain. He said it reminded him of singing, and she'd always had the loveliest voice. Caged birds always did.
She doesn't know what her newest husband likes, aside from hurting her. But she can find out. She can beg, and cry, and make all the right noises until he's satisfied with his prize.
Ramsay listens, stops, smiles, and she doesn't dare to smile back. Joffrey hadn't let her enjoy any moment of happiness for long; if they are not the same monster, then they are similar enough for it to be true of him, too.
He reaches for her face, and she fights the shudder traveling down her spine. Would showing more fear make it worse? It can't possibly make this better.
His fingers clamp like a vice around her cheeks, squishing them in his hand like Mother once did to Arya when she was being obstinate, only she has a feeling his grip is much crueler than their lady Mother ever was; she can feel the bruises forming already.
Ramsay Bolton's face is horribly pleasant as he scolds her, "I don't take well to orders, lady wife."
She only has a moment to comprehend his words before the whip comes out.
She can barely walk for several days afterward, and only then with Reek's assistance.
She makes the mistake of begging only once.
She doesn't try it again.
A/N: Sometimes it feels like Sansa's entire story was designed to make me sad.
~Persephone