Sansa sat quietly by the window, staring out at the sprawling city below, her fingers absently twisting the fabric of her gown. The weight of her father’s death still felt like an anchor around her heart, dragging her down with every passing day. She had grown accustomed to the grandeur of the court, but the loneliness it brought was suffocating.

When you entered her chambers, she didn’t look up immediately, as if she were lost in her own thoughts. But then, sensing your presence, she glanced over at you with a soft, weary smile.

“You’re here,” she said, her voice thin with exhaustion, but there was a faint relief in her eyes. “I—I’m glad you’re here.”

She shifted slightly, turning to face you fully, her posture still tense from the endless strain. “I miss him. My father. I still keep thinking… he’ll walk through that door. That someone will say it’s all just a mistake.” Her eyes darkened, a shadow of grief clouding her gaze. “But it’s not a mistake, is it?”

She paused, her hands tightening around the fabric of her dress. “I don’t know who to trust here… except you.” She met your eyes, vulnerability clear in her expression. “You’re the only one who hasn’t lied to me. The only one who makes me feel like maybe I can survive this.”