Folie à Deux (Continued)

Hello everyone! So sorry for ghosting...I basically abandoned this story for ages, and when I decided to pick it back up, I couldnt get back into my AFF account!

So here we are, right where we left off :)

This is technically Chapter 4 for those of you who have read Part I: http://tv.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600098462

Enjoy, and R&R <3

As per use, I own nada!

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“If you loath a person enough, truly and honestly despise them with the entirety of your being…will they feel it?”

These were the thoughts, confused and steeped in rancor, which clouded Sansa’s mind.

Sprawled upon her unmade bed, she stared blankly at the tiny particles of dust that lazily danced about the golden rays of light filtering in through the window.

It was the afternoon she supposed. Or possibly dusk?

Time mattered little in the Red Keep, where the days, along with their events and their sorrows, seemed to repeat themselves ad infinitum.

And so perhaps it was precisely due to the soul numbing monotony of her everyday life that Sansa clung so desperately to the memory of what had been her final encounter with the Hound.

Or rather, she had latched on to the fury that this memory elicited within her… to that burning rage which still caused her to grind her teeth and dig her fingernails into the soft palms of her hands.

It had been weeks ago, months even. And yet Sansa could still hear the sickening sound made by ripping of her gown. She could still feel the heat that emanated from his massive body as he groped her breasts.

But the memory of his words was by far the hardest to bear. Ever since that night, it was all she could ever think about. Of his low, harsh voice taunting her, humiliating her…

“Bet you’d suck my cock if I asked nice, wouldn't you? Or would you prefer for me to lick your sweet cunt?”

She tightly shut her eyes at the recollection, attempting in vain to halt her train of thought.

“Remember how you moaned like a slut under my hands…”

Sansa sat up abruptly, and steadied herself as she took long, shaky breaths.

How dare he treat and speak to her with such appaling disrespect! He had no right, and she had done nothing to merit this treatment. 

“He just wants to scare me…that’s all,” she murmured to herself.

Indeed, intimidation seemed to be the Hound’s weapon of choice as of late, followed only by his massive sword, which Sansa had seen him wield on the training grounds with nearly as much skill and precision as his acerbic tongue.

He wished to frighten her into believing that all men were scoundrels and all women were whores, despite the good she strived to see in people.

Sansa knew this was the aim of his actions, and yet she knew not exactly why he took them…but she supposed it was due to his own deep-seated hatred of the world.  Deformed, alone, made to kill and slave to a mad boy King…he was surely miserable. And it seemed as though he was hell bent on ensuring that anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path was too.

And his tactics were clearly working. All Sansa could focus on was her fury towards this man, on the deplorability of what he had said and done to her.

But worst of all, since that fateful night, she was constantly plagued by a queer, little voice at the back of her mind. And although this voice closely resembled her own she failed to recognize it…

For this little voice found a curious pleasure in telling her that she could hate the Hound and dwell in her indignation to her hearts content, but in truth, the feel of his hands on her bare skin and his filthy words had all stirred within her sensations she had not known to exist.

“No, stop it!  Think no more of this.”