Theon stood looking over Winterfell. He should be pleased. It was his now.
But somehow it didn’t seem like the place he’d left. Or maybe he wasn’t the same person. Or both. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
But there was no light in the place anymore. It had become iron and salt, like himself.
As a child, this place had seemed so full of magic. The walls were great castles and he and his brothers, no, not his brothers, he and the Starks had been great knights, sworn to protect its people.
Now, the walls just seemed grey, the sun didn’t seem to shine like it used to and the people, his people, hated him.