She doesn't expect to hear from Margaery until the next day, so she sits in her room with Tyrion, and sews. She works on the dress she's making for Margaery, it's supposed to be below her, but she didn't know where she was anymore. She was high when her family was alive, treated as low during Joffrey's reign. She's somewhere in the middle, she thinks, as she carefully connects a rose to another.

She likes doing it, it gives her something to do. If she thought of stitches and sewing and made it elaborate, her mind had to be on the task at hand. So she does, a long time, alone. Tyrion returns by the time she has to light candles.

"Are you making that for the Queen?" He asks. Sansa nods. She got the measurements for the gown from the woman who had made her dress days prior. He does not understand the relationship his wife has with the Queen, but he respects it.

"It's a lovely gown. I'm sure she'll love it." He compliments and Sansa gives him a small smile. She doesn't want compliments, she wants to wake from this nightmare her life has turned into-but Tyrion is kind. So she tries to be kind as well.

As the candles are dying, he carefully moves her sewing, and puts a pillow under her head.