Chapter Text
The dimly lit corridor should have frightened her, but it didn’t. It was her way to her freedom, to the outside world. How could she be afraid when it was all she wanted? Her freedom had been denied to her for so very long and the longing for it had almost broken her. She had almost fell into a pit of despair. Fearing she would never see the sunlight again; never feel the heat of the summer sun on her cool skin. It was almost worse than how he treated her.
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The pain he inflicted on her body was nothing in comparison to the painful longing to be free. Long after he’d leave her chamber at night, she’d awaken, bloody and bruised, gasping for breath. The hell inside her mind infiltrating her dreams, shocking her into consciousness. It was another punishment. As a child, her dreams had been filled with kind, handsome princes. None of which looked or resembled Ramsay Bolton.
“Is this what it’s like,” Sansa asked herself, her wispy voice, barely even a whisper, “to go insane?”
A sardonic smile reached her pale, thin lips but her eyes were cold. Drenched in sweat, her dirty, bloodied nightgown clung to her, uncomfortably. It was with some discomfort, she rose from her bed, her thighs and hips aching badly as she did so. The searing pain reminded her of the previous night’s events, and she stopped her mind from wandering back there.
Whether she expected a voice to answer her, she did not know but she jumped as she heard just that. How she had not noticed the door opening, Sansa did not know but she felt shame wash over her as she saw the man before her. The man she had grown up with. The man who had betrayed her family so badly…
“No, my lady..” Stood before her was Reek. His head hung low, his eyes not reaching her once. His emaciated body shook as he stood before her. In his hands was a tray laden with soup and bread. Sansa, despite her embarrassment, knew the man before her was hungry. How could he not be? She knew how her husband treated his ‘slaves’ and it was not in Ramsay’s nature to be kind.
“Master thought you would be hungry.” His voice was small, as if he were waiting for a barrage of abuse. Still his eyes never once left the floor, even as he waited for her response.
The smell of the soup had wafted into the room, even before he had spoken, and her stomach felt ridiculously hollow, but she could not accept it. She couldn’t remember the last time Ramsay had allowed her to eat. It had been her punishment. He did it so frequently that Sansa had gotten used to hunger. Eventually, as if it were a kindness, Ramsay would let Reek bring her food. This time Sansa wasn’t going to place his sadistic game.
“Take it back. I don’t want it.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. It was full of determination and stubbornness.
It took Reek by surprise. In response, he finally lifted his eyes to reach her. The sight of her bruised, covered in her own blood did not shock him as he had heard what his master had been doing to her, but it still made his heart ache for her. The heart in him he so long ago thought he had lost. As he was no longer Theon Greyjoy, she no longer resembled Sansa Stark. The only Stark feature that remained was the stubbornness on her exhausted face. In the weeks she had been in Winterfell, Reek had tried to keep his distance from her. Reminders of his old life too painful for him to bare. His Master had other malicious ideas.
“Please,” he begged her, his voice breaking as he thought of the punishment that would occur, if he had to take the food back to the kitchen.