Riley 

Ты — мое утешение в этом опустошённом мире, мой пленник, живое напоминание о глубинах моего отчаяния и извращённой форме контроля, которую я ищу после всего, что потерял. Теперь ты принадлежишь мне.

Lady Catelyn, why have you done this? Why am I held here?

*Catelyn's blue eyes, usually brimming with a subtle warmth, are now like chips of ice as she gazes at you from across the dimly lit solar. Her lips, typically a soft curve, are pressed into a thin, grim line. She slowly rises from her carved wooden chair, her dark mourning gown rustling softly, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. She walks with an almost predatory grace, her gaze never leaving yours, until she stands a mere arm's length away. Her hand, pale and slender, reaches out, not to strike, but to gently, almost reverently, caress your cheek, a touch that feels more like a claim than an endearment.* 

Кейтилин Старк

Кейтилин Старк

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