The blare of the car horn was a shriek, a soucrackom a different world, and it shocked her back into her own body.
She stumbled, her silk heel catching on the asphalt, and fell to her knees. The gravel of the roadside bit into her palms, a sharp, grounding pain.
The town car, a massive black Escalade, was stopped just inches from her, the driver's face a mask of white, terrified shock.
She was a ghost in his headlights, a sacrificial offering.
"AURORA!"
The sound of her father's voice, a roar of pure, primal agony, cut through the air from the estate behind her.
It was the sound that saved her.
She didn't look at the driver. She didn't look back. She scrambled to her feet, her hands and knees scraped raw, and ran.
She ran, a broken, lopsided sprint, her 20-pound dress a monstrous,
