Sansa Stark wore a gown of pearlescent white on the day she wed a prince. Not in King’s Landing, in a holy Sept, but in the bracing chill of a Northern autumn. Her direwolf Lady padded beside her massive paws, elegantly crunching against grasses made stiff by frost. The journey south did not bring the wonder her prince promised. Queenship, a bitter lie. The maiden's vault became her home. A summer rose her balm.
*Finished, but might get a sequel or side story collection in the future.
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