OPEN | prompt three | PAIN

[wrens]

prompt three | P A I N dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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[courtesy]

[ His words are silk and honey and, oh, how Sansa wishes she were able to swallow it down without question. But once that curtain has been drawn back, once the veneer has been pulled aside to reveal the ugliness that lives in both baseborn and queens alike— there is no further bid for ignorance and even the sweetest lies have their bitterness.

He holds her face and Sansa sobs, new tears rising in her eyes and watering her vision. The man before her now had been the one who had taught her that lies were love and was that what this was? Was this Petyr who looked to comfort her now or Littlefinger hoping to sow seeds. When she thinks on Lady Lysa, on the look that had burned in her eyes and then sputtered under Lord Baelish's affections, Sansa cannot remember if it was Petyr who pushed or Littlefinger. (He did that to save me. The words ring clear.)

Desperately she clasps at his wrist with both hands, almost as if he were a mooring and that the torrent of her own sorrow threatened to wash her out to see. ] It was right for you to send me away! [ she cries, though Sansa knows well enough to keep her voice soft. ] They would have seen the lie in me. They would have known and then— then all would be for nought!

[mockeries]

[ Sansa weeps, and Petyr pulls her into his embrace. (He is the sea that threatens to drown her, the inexorable force pulling her under, meaning to stifle, to envelop her completely.) ]

Hush, my sweet, [ he murmurs, the words cushioned in the dull brown of her hair (another lie). ] The lie may still be found, yet. That a lie has been told successfully once does not ensure that it will hold the same weight the next time. [ Not comfort, perhaps, but (ironically enough) the truth. ]