Rose's baby: *crying*
Scar: You have no idea what the soldiers have done to the people of Liore.
Edward: Like what? What they do to Rose?
Scar: A group of them carried her to their base. Whatever they did to her there was traumatic enough that she couldn't speak when she returned.
"What I'm gonna do? I love my baby but he ain' mine, he is but I didn't fuck for him. I was raped by my fahver."
— Clareece 'Precious' Jones, Push
Sister Mary Helena: A young girl on the staff was accidentally locked in here over the holidays. The inmates kept her hidden for days. She was raped hundreds of times. When they found her she was barely alive... and with child. That girl was Amanda Krueger. Her child—
Neil Gordon: Freddy.
Sister Mary Helena: The bastard son of a hundred maniacs.
Tell me, when you raped my mother, did she scream? I met a woman called Prudence Crannich once, who delivered a baby in the women's washroom of Berwick-upon-Tweed station, on New Year's Day. The mother died, but I tracked down her family and listened to her mother - my grandmother - tell her story of Lisa Leadwell, who went down south to find her fortune and who met her death in the arms of strangers. Cold is the enemy in trauma care - it slows down clotting, making it easier to bleed out. Perhaps, if I'd been born in summer my mother would have lived. Of course, no one but you and Lisa will ever know if you truly raped her, but she was a young lonely woman in the house of an angry, potentially violent master who believed that his wife had betrayed him and was himself quite probably psychologically damaged from his time at the front. I imagine you caught her by the arm and kissed her, loud and rough, so that your wife would know you had done it. I imagine that she was terrified, not understanding her role as a pawn in your marriage. You tell her that her position is become untenable; she begs you not to do it. You say that it'll make things easier for everyone, that if she screams the household will know and she'll be sent out without pay or references, branded a whore - better to be docile, better to be quiet... I suppose you could tell yourself that it wasn't rape if she didn't scream. Did she scream when you pushed her down? Did she scream?
— Harry to his father, The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
Roose Bolton: You've never asked me about your mother.
Ramsay Bolton: Why would I? She had me, she died. And here we are.
Roose Bolton: She was a peasant girl, pretty in a common sort of way. She was a miller's wife. Apparently they married without my knowledge or consent. So I had him hanged and I took her beneath the tree where he was swaying. She fought me the whole time. She was lucky I didn't hang her too. A year later she came to my gates with a squalling baby in her arms. A baby she claimed was mine. I nearly had her whipped, and the child thrown to the river. But then I looked at you. And I saw then what I see now. You are my son.
