domingo, 9 de marzo de 2014



The third Alice was a beautiful young girl,
the fairest and dearest one to enter Wonderland...

She had come from the Northern hinterland, from a province called "Winterfall" or something like that... Winterfell. The daughter of the late chancellor and a rebel dowager, her hair was the reddish brown colour of mahogany, and her eyes were as blue and pure as summer skies. Her name was Sansa Stark. 
She had chosen to stay at court because her own native shire looked cold and bleak in comparison. And because the newly-crowned boy king had (ostensibly) yielded his heart to her modest provincial charms. Thus, Sansa still lived in the Red Keep with her betrothed and his tangled family. Indeed, Joffrey I, with his downy cheeks, his golden locks, and those piercing emerald eyes, was the best party in the land and the dream of all its maidens. And she, out of them all, was his bride! The courtiers in their elegant robes were always at their beck and call... but, to tell you the truth, the one who actually ruled Westeros from the Red Keep was Queen Mother Cersei, regent by widowhood, as beautiful as her eldest son and heir, whose good looks he had inherited. The Golden Lioness was the one to arrange the betrothal, and to live the life of her daughter-in-law. She had set up a trap for the young girl, ensuring the Keep would be the gilded cage from which she never should escape.
Looking up at the night sky from her tower bedchamber, Sansa thought of her own mother, of her older brother and younger sister, of the harsh granite halls where they used to play, and suddenly burst into tears. She couldn't return to Winterfell. And she was no longer a child.

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