[ Sansa. That is the name that he calls her and inside there is a voice that cries (howls) no no no, you mustn't say that or else they'll see and they'll know I am false.
But there is no one besides themselves to witness such indiscretions, no eyes to see and no ears to hear; and there is a portion of Alayne (who is also Sansa) that is gladdened by that, and another portion which feels the emptiness of the room around them and is made desolate and sad. She does not know that many had cried at her loss, that some had bit back tears of anger while others had bit back tears of rage. Alayne had been at the very cusp of death when Petyr had called out to the other passengers in search for aid, and by the time it had arrived Alayne was gone, having flown up into the skies over some distant and forgotten dream.
(Gone like Sansa and, by rights, should have been buried like Sansa too, only Ned had—)
A phantom pain clenches in Alayne's stomach and she flinches slowly, her shoulders lifting up to her ears in obvious discomfort as she scrambles to gather the cloak to her again in fear that it (or what lies beneath) will suddenly and most certainly be lost without the added effort. (Sometimes she drifts and in that drifting, dreams, and it is never of anything other than the blade and the wink of Magneto's smile through her tears. And whenever dreams she wakes with a start, clutching her stomach and terrified that she is as much alive as she is dead.) Her gaze drops, attention sliding off and away though she continues to shift her weight in his direction by degrees — somehow avoidant and needy at the same time. ]
I—
[ The words do not come. They burn up like spent ashes on her tongue. Hold me, she wishes to say. Don't look at me. Forgive me.
( ACTION )
But there is no one besides themselves to witness such indiscretions, no eyes to see and no ears to hear; and there is a portion of Alayne (who is also Sansa) that is gladdened by that, and another portion which feels the emptiness of the room around them and is made desolate and sad. She does not know that many had cried at her loss, that some had bit back tears of anger while others had bit back tears of rage. Alayne had been at the very cusp of death when Petyr had called out to the other passengers in search for aid, and by the time it had arrived Alayne was gone, having flown up into the skies over some distant and forgotten dream.
(Gone like Sansa and, by rights, should have been buried like Sansa too, only Ned had—)
A phantom pain clenches in Alayne's stomach and she flinches slowly, her shoulders lifting up to her ears in obvious discomfort as she scrambles to gather the cloak to her again in fear that it (or what lies beneath) will suddenly and most certainly be lost without the added effort. (Sometimes she drifts and in that drifting, dreams, and it is never of anything other than the blade and the wink of Magneto's smile through her tears. And whenever dreams she wakes with a start, clutching her stomach and terrified that she is as much alive as she is dead.) Her gaze drops, attention sliding off and away though she continues to shift her weight in his direction by degrees — somehow avoidant and needy at the same time. ]
I—
[ The words do not come. They burn up like spent ashes on her tongue. Hold me, she wishes to say. Don't look at me. Forgive me.
But the dead desire not. ]