People are so vulnerable at night. They’re willing to spill out their souls to anyone willing to listen. They have desires to do things that never cross their mind when the sun is in the sky.
That’s the most poetic description of nightblogging that I’ve ever seen
She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead. She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We’ll give her those, as many as she likes.
Keep re-doing this over and over again, trying to make a nice picture for my future new theme
