Sansa Stark

Darkness, overwhelming. A space that smelled of fear and dread. The constant rattling of her cage constantly took her back to the chaos of the slaughter of her father’s guardsmen, to hiding in her room during Blackwater, to waiting in the Winterfell towers before she was married to Ramsey.

Sansa had spent a week trapped in a dark and lightless hell. When she had surrendered in the Great Hall of Winterfell, she had not known how the Lannisters would treat her.

She would never have expected for Jaime to throw her into a wooden crate. At first she had thought he was making a lame Lannister joke, when he had placed the box in front of her. But his face had been deadly serious.

Stripped half-naked, she had been shivering in the darkness every night despite the onset of the Great Thaw’s heat. Her only source of warmth was a corset and the only thing she had to sate her thirst was the pails of water thrown into her crate every morn and sunset.

Her only source of comfort was a single small lemon cake that was sneaked into her box every night. When she had seen it being pushed through the air hole that first night, she had smeared it against the timbers in disgust. But when the first hunger pangs had set in, she had scooped up as much of the crumbs as she could and wolfed them down.