I’m not Arya. I’m Sansa. Many GRRM readers hate her; she’s stupid and naive. She is used as a pawn by everyone. But I understand and love Sansa deeply, because her story is my own.
“He walked over and poured a scotch and water. He walked into the bedroom with it, took off his shirt, pants, shoes, stockings. In his shorts he went to bed with the drink. It was 15 minutes to noon. No ambition, no talent, no chance.”
He’d asked about my secrets, so I shared my fantasies. Now we were both unmasked.
My dad tells me to get the Kingsford lighter fluid which they use to marinate the CDs and tapes. Then they ask if I have anything to say. I just stand there silently. Then, with a drop of a match, our music is transformed into melted notes.
Don’t they care that Robin is dead?!
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
If Santa isn’t real, there really is no point in trying to believe in God anymore.
Tell your story.