I Take No Joy In Mead Nor

When The End Comes, I Will Meet It Raging.

Men See What They Expect To See.

As Much As I Love Historical Fiction, My Problem With Historical Fiction Is That You Always Know What's Going To Happen.

Perhaps I Will Die Too, She Told Herself, And The Thought Did Not Seem So Terrible To Her. If She Flung Herself From The Window, She Could Put An End To Her Suffering, And In The Years To Come The Singers Would Write Songs Of Her Grief. Her Body Would Lie On The Stones Below, Broken And Innocent, Shaming All Those Who Had Betrayed Her. Sansa Went So Far As To Cross The Bedchamber And Throw Open The Shutters ... But Then Her Courage Left Her, And She Ran Back To Her Bed, Sobbing.

Nothing Burns Like The Cold.