[ She has seen drawings in storybooks. Paintings in great tomes. Photos in magazines. Pictures of places she will never go and of people she will never meet, and for the longest time it had made Sansa sad. It had filled her with a kind of longing frowned upon in surrogates such as herself. For longing meant desire and desire had a habit of turning out just as readily as it turned in.
But out was not a direction available to her kind for out meant there instead of here, it meant beyond the great glass sea of mist and salt and fog. It meant real life when all that were was for surrogates like Sansa was the Estate.
But some of that old unhappiness, that hollow sadness that would come in seeing things she would never know, it tempers away in the wake of Mr. Baelish's smile. Smile at me always, her heart seems to sing, the sentiment warming her expression and settling in the wet of her single blue eye. Smile, and I won't need the rest of the world. I'd happily stay here. It's enough.
You're enough. ]
And what do you wish? Is it a secret? Will you tell me? [ Quickly she turns to kiss the bowl of his palm a second time. Then, her mouth lingering she trails another then another, until Sansa has nosed her way past the first inch of his sleeve, her lips breathing hot breath against the inside of his wrist. No longer a kiss, but something.
no subject
But out was not a direction available to her kind for out meant there instead of here, it meant beyond the great glass sea of mist and salt and fog. It meant real life when all that were was for surrogates like Sansa was the Estate.
But some of that old unhappiness, that hollow sadness that would come in seeing things she would never know, it tempers away in the wake of Mr. Baelish's smile. Smile at me always, her heart seems to sing, the sentiment warming her expression and settling in the wet of her single blue eye. Smile, and I won't need the rest of the world. I'd happily stay here. It's enough.
You're enough. ]
And what do you wish? Is it a secret? Will you tell me? [ Quickly she turns to kiss the bowl of his palm a second time. Then, her mouth lingering she trails another then another, until Sansa has nosed her way past the first inch of his sleeve, her lips breathing hot breath against the inside of his wrist. No longer a kiss, but something.
She murmurs softly: ] Please tell me.