"But that's not black, not really." She looked over at him, wishing - oh, it was a girlish wish, one that Sansa had far outgrown. If she could have one of the gowns that she had gotten in King's Landing, had someone to dress her hair - her hair, not the mousy brown that Alayne had since birth - that she'd met him at somewhere appropriate... Everything would have changed. He would be sweet, perhaps, in a way that Joffrey had played at and she had thought that Ser Loras had. He would have been sweet the way that Tyrion had imagined that he was, and that Petyr played at with Lady Lysa.

She looked down at the floor as she followed him, pulling herself together, away from that sort of vulnerability. "It is the stars and the moon and clouds, and the birds in the sky."