Things get angsty and graphic here –

-Vee

Sansa

Sansa wandered around her room aimlessly. She had stayed in Sandor's room until boredom had overcome her and sleep avoided her. She went to her room to retrieve a book or some sewing.

It had been two or so hours since Sandor had left. Business never usually took this long.

The house was unnaturally quiet – it was only nightfall and usually the servants were going about their last minute chores, or preparing for the next day. Something felt off.

Then just like that, she knew.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, wearing only her thin white nightdress but that had nothing to do with the chill that came over her.

He was clever. It was all part of his plan.

She sat on the bed waiting. Waiting for the lion to find her.

But she wasn't scared. Not anymore.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there – a few minutes? An hour?

All she knew, was when the handle rattled and the door opened, it was he who stepped out of the darkness into the dim light of her room with only one candle lit.

He stood before her, green eyes sparkling in rage, excitement, and madness.

He held the dagger in his hand and smirked at her.

"You have lost your fear," he said simply, disappointment heavy in his voice.

She stood, looking at him calmly and nodded.

He sighed, "I'll change that."

He circled her, telling her everything in his plan. He told her what he planned to do to Sandor. How he had sent him away with the façade of business. That he should have figured it out by now and come rushing back to her. But he would be too late. He knew it. She knew it. He told her of his whores. He told her all he planned to do to her. But still, she was unafraid.

He twirled the dagger in his hands all the while. When he lunged for her she ran, heading to the door and screamed for help. But his hands clawed at her, sharp nails breaking the skin and staining her arms and back red. He pulled her back with strength that surprised her and she fell across the floor.

Her nightdress slid up her legs and she saw the glint in his eyes. She scrambled to her feet when he went to her again, grabbing her around her throat and held the dagger there. She spat in his face and he cursed, the dagger dropping from his grasp.

She tried to run again but again he caught her. His fist connected with the side of her mouth and she fell against her chest of drawers. He kicked her and she screamed in pain and he laughed, a loud, gleeful noise when he heard her.

His hands ripped her nightdress open to her waist and she clutched to her sleeves, trying to cover herself. He gripped her again around the throat and crouched on the ground before her.

"Have you come to love the dog? Come to love his ugly face?"

"Yes," she glared at him through the strands of her hair, through the blood and pain.

He threw his head back laughing then reached up to the single candle on the drawers above her, "shall I make you just like him?"

Her eyes widened at his words and she kicked, screaming, desperate to get away but he straddled her, pinning her arms beneath his weight painfully, the hot wax of the candle dripped onto the delicate skin of her neck and she screamed. Then he thrust the single flame down onto her skin and watched her writhe and struggle.

The pain was intense. She struggled, trying to move her neck to snuff out the candle against her skin but he held her fast and trailed the flame across her skin, from her neck to shoulder. She felt the skin blistering and tightening as it burned and the smell filled her senses. She knew Sandor had endured so much worse and that gave her a sense of strength.

She kicked, struggling under his body but he wouldn't move. Then her fingers found the blade of the dagger and she gripped it, feeling her skin pierce but she twirled it around, struggling to concentrate and think past the pain and she thrust it up. It sank into his arm and he screamed, leaping off her, the candle clattering to the floor, wax dripping to snuff the flame out.

Sansa stood, gritting her teeth against the pain at her neck and shoulder; it was burning like she was still on fire and constant, never relieving for a moment. She brushed her tears away and realized she still held the dagger in one hand, blood covering the blade and her.

She rushed at him with the knife and he darted to the side, but she twisted, instinct taking over and she wasn't sure how, couldn't remember. But she saw the knife buried in his back, through his heart. Blood spurted out and she let go, stumbling to the floor, against the wall behind her.

He stared wide at the sky, coughing and blood dripped out of his mouth. He turned as if to look at her but his knees gave out and he fell on his face. He coughed, blood pooling on the floor then was still.

Sandor burst into the room then, "Sansa!" his shout was desperate.

She turned her head slowly to see him and his breath caught in his throat. He rushed to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her like she would disappear at any moment.

"Sansa, my love, are you alright he pulled away, cupping her face in those large, scarred hands she loved so much and peered into her face. She smiled with blood drooping from her lip

"It's over. He's dead"

He saw the scars then, her flesh that would be blistered and oozing and tender.

The noise he made was horrifying and his hands held her softly, "Sansa…no."

She winced, the pain was unbearable and darkness clouded her vision, but it was good darkness, this darkness was taking away the pain the taste of blood in her mouth. Everything.

V