Some gave me soft words and some blunt, some made excuses, some promises, some only lied. In the end words are just wind.

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

I've written some standalone novels, but a book series allows fans in. There's much more intense involvement.

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that.

When the end comes, I will meet it raging.

You know, I've always considered women to be people.