Nothing Burns Like The Cold.

They Will Not Love Me, You Say? When Have They Ever Loved Me? How Can I Lose Something I Have Never Owned? - Stannis

Perhaps I Cannot Make My People Good, She Told Herself, But I Should At Least Try To Make Them A Little Less Bad.

Men See What They Expect To See.

Drifting Snowflakes Brushed Her Face As Light As Lover’s Kisses, And Melted On Her Cheeks. At The Center Of The Garden, Beside The Statue Of The Weeping Woman That Lay Broken And Half-buried On The Ground, She Turned Her Face Up To The Sky And Closed Her Eyes. She Could Feel The Snow On Her Lashes, Taste It On Her Lips. It Was The Taste Of Winterfell. The Taste Of Innocence. The Taste Of Dreams.

There Are A Number Of Things That I'm Trying To Get Into The Books. There's A Meta-fictional Aspect, If I May Use That Pretentious Word, To Writing Anything. You're Writing In The Shadow Of All The People That Have Gone Before And, In A Way, You're Having A Dialogue With Them. As Someone Who's Read J.r. Tolkien And Robert E. Howard And All The Great Fantasists Before, This Is Almost My Answer To Them.