[ she'd be glad in knowing her intuition was correct — and yet, she can feel no happiness when Rosalind opens the door and Sansa can see the state she's in, the bandages and the bruises. she can try to mask her surprise, she's become rather good at that, but she can't help the way her eyes linger just a touch too long, the way her mouth draws into a tight line before she forces herself to smile at Ros. ]

I know enough of wounds, [ she answers quietly, ] enough to know that the ones that heal the slowest are the invisible ones.

[ having had something like that happen to you is far worse than the physical wounds or pain that was inflicted. at least in her mind. she leans down to pat Darwin's head, looking up at Rosalind's words, blinking as though surprised. ]

Of course I do! I'm very fond of you. If I'd had an older sister, I would wish her to have been like you. [ for someone who is capable of such deception and coldness, Sansa can be surprisingly earnest when she puts on no airs, and this is one such moment: she means it all, thinks that she'd have loved to have an older sister, someone to look up to, someone as smart and beautiful and strong as Rosalind. and if she had, perhaps she'd have grown up smarter, too. ]