My Skin Has Turned To Porcelain, To

Some Old Wounds Never Truly Heal, And Bleed Again At The Slightest Word.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.

I'm Sorry That I Never Trusted You. I Don't Know How To Do That Anymore.

I Heard Of A Man Who Had A Razor Made Of Valyrian Steel. He Cut His Head Off Trying To Shave.

The Most Important Thing For Any Aspiring Writer, Is To Read! And Not Just The Sort Of Thing You're Trying To Write, Be That Fantasy, Sf, Comic Books, Whatever. You Need To Read Everything.