Sansa's birthday Gift I

THE grandfather clock in the hall chimed its twelve mournful notes, marking the exact moment Sansa turned eighteen. The sound, usually a comfort, now felt like a gong tolling the end of her childhood. She lay in the vast, unfamiliar bed, the satin sheets cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat blooming between her legs.

This wasn't her bed at home. This was her aunt and uncle's guest room, a space usually reserved for distant cousins or business ...