Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.
“I’m afraid we’ll always be
a book with the end pages ripped out.”
— Madisen Kuhn, Does Time Truly Heal All Wounds?