[ It's not an idea that Sansa readily understands, if only because she's had very little in her life. A symptom of a brief existence spent upon the Estate, there is nothing she's owned that was not a trinket or a bauble or a book (she has no concept of true ownership, like responsibility, like love; the headmaster claims it is better that way).
Frowning, she rereads the sentence before turning the page. (The book itself is a gift, one of many given to her by Mr. Baelish since coming to live in the attic.) Sansa murmurs to herself as her blue eyes skim the page and settles herself more fully into the high wingbacked chair in which she sits. ] How very strange.
SANSA | surrogates
Frowning, she rereads the sentence before turning the page. (The book itself is a gift, one of many given to her by Mr. Baelish since coming to live in the attic.) Sansa murmurs to herself as her blue eyes skim the page and settles herself more fully into the high wingbacked chair in which she sits. ] How very strange.