|Aurelia Branson|
The party rages on around me, but I'm drifting through it like a ghost.
Bodies press against one another, alcohol spills onto the marble floors, the bass of the music vibrates through my ribs, but I don't feel any of it. Not really. Because the only thing echoing inside my skull is the image of Luna—smirking, taunting, possessing Olivia like she once possessed me.
I shouldn't care.
I should leave.
But I don't.
Instead, I find myself moving through the chaos, past the intoxicated laughter and the slurred conversations, past the couples making out in darkened corners. I don't know where I'm going, but my hands are shaking, my throat is raw, and my heart—God, my heart—is barely holding together.
I shove past someone, stumbling into the backyard where the cool night a
