Arya Stark had lived and suffered for years. She had trained, she had given up on her identity, her very being.
She had endured more pain than she believed possible and yet made it to the other side. She had troubled countless miles and risked herself repeatedly.
All in the name of a vendetta. All in the name of revenge.
She had searched long and wide to find every person in her list, and murder them in cold blood. She had killed them all, one by one, and smiled after they were no more.
And yet, as she realized what she was risking by searching for Cersei Lannister in the ruins of King's Landing, Arya stopped and run away.
Because life was worth living. Because she didn't want to die simply to fulfill her revenge.
Because she wanted to carry on with her life and do more than murder a defeated queen. Her father would have wanted her to move on. Her mother would have wanted her to be happy.
There had been too many horrible deaths already. It was time to stop. It was time to live.
For the first time since her journey began, Arya chose life over revenge... and it felt right.