It was the worst day in existence for one Sansa Stark, the daughter of Eddard - or Ned as his friends called him - and Catelyn Stark. She stormed up the long dark wooden stairs and into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her; showing her anger would only get her a lecture. The fifteen year old with bold red hair had just been told she was to marry Joffrey Baratheon when she was eighteen, an arranged marriage? Who even did that in the modern world? They'd grown up together, constantly forced to be around one another since they were the same age and their fathers were friends. Sansa had liked him at first, he was handsome with big blue eyes. However as they had gotten older she'd discovered the true Joffrey, he was vile and cruel, lacking in a moral compass or conscience; Jiminy Cricket had taken one look at the blonde and backed away as quickly as possible. Joffrey Baratheon was a monster ! At age twelve just hadn't been able to keep the act of being a sweet boy up any longer his evil intent had seeped through his mask and turned everything red, Sansa had hated him ever since but she'd never been able to make her parents understand that; he kept the act up when with them. Now all she got was kisses and flowers for Joffrey's harsh words, for the slaps and punches, for the hate-filled threats, for the pain that never left a bruise; he never left a mark. That was just what he did to her, she knew there were others, others that suffered at his hand while he laughed. She was scared to say anything to her parents again, partly because of the consequences the blonde bastard would inflict upon her but mainly because of the look of disappointment she'd receive from her mother.
Sansa knew something was seriously wrong with Joffrey, she needed to leave him, well, she'd never actually agreed to date him it was just sort of decided by the blonde monster, but her parents seemed so happy for her and Cersei liked knowing Joffrey had a play thing. Bitch! Sansa had always been the good girl, the one who didn't get called to the principles office, the one who got an A in every class. Arya was the troublesome daughter not Sansa, she did all her homework and the after school clubs her Mother had all but forced on her.
Sansa collapsed on her pink bed: Gods I hate pink . No one seemed to notice just how unhappy the fifteen year old was, she felt trapped , her azure eyes cast over the room looking at the things that really made her smile; the gifts. She'd gotten a gift every birthday and Christmas from some unknown person since her tenth birthday, because she'd grown up supposedly deeply in love with Joffrey everyone assumed they were from him, special gifts that were some kind of tradition they never spoke about but Sansa knew the truth. Joffrey wasn't anywhere near thoughtful enough to send her the gifts, they were beautiful and tailored to her tastes, someone had put a lot of thought into them. T hey certainly hadn't come from the spiteful and self-absorbed blonde. In all honesty Sansa had no idea where they came from, who they came from and she didn't much care. These presents twice a year made her happy, something she didn't experience all that often, so she'd let her family believe it was Joffrey because it avoided questions of who really sent them.
Maybe she should have been worried or at least a bit concerned about who sent them but it was the mystery she liked. Her favourite was perched on her night table and had been since Sansa's twelfth birthday, it was a Fabergé Carousel and far more expensive than anything else in her room. The expense of it wasn't the reason Sansa adored it though, its base was a little bigger than the size of her palm and was about a foot high . The carousel was white with gold detailing that she had no doubt was actual gold, she didn't deserve such a gift but Sansa did appreciate it greatly. There were four gold en horses each with a different colored saddle and reins encrusted in little stones; red, blue, green and clear. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the stones were and Sansa guarded it with her life, even Arya behaved herself around the Fabergé Carousel; surprisingly. It was like something only a Princess would have with its delicate metal work that looked like soft gold fabric draped around the edge.
There was another gift she adored, a necklace that she kept around her neck at all times; her very first give which had been received at the tender ago of ten. The silver colored chain held a pendant in the shape of a small letter 'S' with a tiny diamond in it, as a child she'd thought it was just a bit of pretty costume jewellery however, on a whim the previous year she'd gone to a jewellery store to find it was in fact a diamond and it wasn't silver but platinum, money was clearly no object to whomever sent her the presents and it made Sansa feel special. Such simplicity but highly effective, exactly what Sansa liked from clothing or jewellery.
Maybe the fact that her parents thought it was from Joffrey and Sansa had worn it every day since she was ten was the reason they were all but forcing her to marry him. Sansa was fifteen, a virgin and hated the blonde brat with a passion, how could they promise her to him? When you're old enough of course, her father had said, he didn't seem as on board with the idea as her mother . It wasn't the seventeen hundreds, but everyone seemed so happy for Sansa and she didn't want to upset them. That was part of Sansa's problem, she always ended up going along with things because it made her family happy rather than taking a stand and just telling them what she wanted.
Sometimes she thought about running away, just vanishing into the night, not even leaving a note. No more straight As, no more mind-numbing and spirit crushing extra curricular activities on a daily basis, no more overbearing parents, no more religion, no more Sunday school and best of all no more Joffrey- fucking -Baratheon. Where would she go though? That was where her plan came crashing down around her, Aunt Lysa was crazy as fuck with a n out of control son, Uncle Edmure had just had a new baby and didn't seem to like Sansa all that much; they'd both tell her mother anyway so there was no point. Ned's family was dead, and Jeyne Poole would be the first person they went to looking for her; Sansa had nowhere to go.
Sansa sighed, deep and exasperated. Tomorrow was another day of exactly the same as the one before save for the fact she had a history test.
“What fun.” She breathed before standing up and going to her large window to the right of her annoyingly pink bed.
Looking through the huge pane of glass she could see the woods that surrounded her home, it had always made her feel safe though she had no idea why. Maybe that was where her guardian angel dwelled. The redhead said nor thought anything as she stared out into the darkness of night, everything lay silent and quiet except for the sound of Arya's radio in the next room but Sansa tuned that out; a new day was coming.
Meanwhile out in the far off tree line stood a man gazing through his binoculars to see the young redhead. Petyr Baelish, raven hair greying at the temples perfectly combed and a neat goatee coating his ever so slightly tanned face, he wasn't an overly tall man but the power and authority that resonated from him made up for that in abundance. He wore a charcoal suit with a matching tie and plum shirt, he didn't often wear a tie which explained why it had been pulled loose and the top few buttons of his shirt were open. Over the top was a black hoodie helping him to blend even further into the dark woodland, he knew no one could see him from his hiding spot amongst nature but he liked to be cautious. His usual mockingbird pin attached to his lapel glinting slightly in the moonlight. Stormy eyes watched Sansa via the binoculars, she was so beautiful. A Goddess. Fire red hair hung loosely around her milk white face as though it were a cloak while she fingered the necklace he'd given her so long ago. Petyr liked that, it was as though he was always with her, resting at the crevice of her breasts. When he looked at Sansa everything slowed and his mind stopped for a time just letting him bask in her perfect beauty rather than working like he normally did. Sansa Stark gave him peace. His beautiful little girl. Petyr had no idea how long he stood there but it was long enough that he needed to return to work, the man with eyes the color of moss didn't want to leave her though, never did, especially on the days she looked sad. Something had upset her he could see it, Petyr would find out what had caused it though and if there was something he could do to fix it he would; Petyr would do anything to make his little girl happy. His Sweetling. Oh how he wanted to hold her in his arms again.
Petyr sat in his penthouse on the large black leather couch that stood in the centre of the open plan room. To his left stood the kitchen with black marble counter tops and breakfast bar tucked under the catwalk, ahead of him was the large wall mounted television and stairs that led off to his bedroom s , Petyr's right found a two-story wall to wall window that let him look down over the city. Behind him was the balcony with an equally stunning view b ut he wasn't interested in any of that, Baelish's full attention was firmly locked on the photograph of Sansa Stark in his hand , his beautiful girl. Every Christmas or birthday Petyr would take a picture of her, a gift to himself; it would have been cheep if he did it every day. The dark-haired man didn't edit them into photographs together or have a collage of her on his bedroom wall, that was just strange, even to him. He was not a stalker, or at least in his head he wasn't; stalkers usually didn't go unnoticed for almost six years. Petyr liked to think of himself more as a guardian angel or a secret protector to the most beautiful thing in creation. The hand not gripping the photograph of Sansa brought a cut crystal tumbler glass up to his lips so he could take a sip of aged whiskey, what does she taste like? He wondered.
In the newest image Sansa had her hair neatly braided over her right shoulder and w ore a floral dress that came down to just above her knee paired with a little black leather jacket. The necklace he'd given her hung around her neck as usual and Petyr knew Cat e lyn would never approve of the outfit, you're dressed like Jezebel , he expected she would have said. Oh his sweet little girl could be naughty when she wanted to be, he liked that.
Petyr set the glass down and finally let his hand slip to cup himself through his pants, he wanted to touch her, kiss her, taste her. The sound of his belt opening echoed around the room bouncing off the wall s but the dark-haired man was deaf to it as he took himself in hand. He imagined the stunning on her knees for him, hot wet mouth working his hard length. She was perfect, delicate and careful but clearly inexperienced just like he knew she would be. Petyr imagined slipping his hand into her red hair, letting his fingers scrape against her scalp and their eyes locked while she sucked him. He let his mind fill with thoughts of touching the back of her throat and feeling the vibration when she hummed around him; her little floral dress clinging to her body in all the right places. Petyr's hand moved faster up and down his length imagining her tongue swirling around the head until he couldn't take it any more and came, hard. White erupted behind his eyes with Sansa's name on his lips.
Gods he wanted her.