-EPILOGUE-
"If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away."
WILLAS
[eight months past the election]
.
The announcement of Prime Minister Petyr Baelish's engagement was published in the London Times yesterday. Baelish and socialite Sansa Stark, who turns twenty years old this month, have been together for almost two years, although they were briefly separated after Baelish's election last year…
It was his twentieth re-read of his text and he was trying to somehow get it to stop sounding so completely indifferent, but it turned out Willas couldn't even find any bitter words to comment on this atrocity. He had absolutely nothing more to say on the subject, and so his so-called tabloid article read like a political statement from Baelish's office. Maybe this literary feat would finally get him fired.
Whatever faith he'd had in the world had been blown away by these news – he couldn't understand how such an innocent, pure person like Sansa could be so completely incapable, so utterly unwilling, to let herself be saved.
He couldn't understand how Baelish had got to all this power just with a handful of lies and a few strings pulled.
Willas didn't understand, and he'd quite simply given up trying to. It was the only way he could live with it.
He wasn't cut out for this job, he thought, buried his head in his hands and wondered if "It couldn't be prevented" made for an acceptable title.