Anger bubbles in my chest. How can they sit there and hurl such insults at me?
What haven’t I done for them?
I did so much in the hope that the stigma of my identity would fade; melt behind the backdrop of my success but it seems that I will always be to them, a rogue slave.
I can’t take it anymore. I turn to leave when one of them gasps loudly.
“Luna!” They chorus, smiling like deer caught in a headlight, “We didn’t know you were here.” One shoved her arm into her side, interlocking their fingers with their hair in nervousness. They give me a once-over, “You look so good!”
“The dress is fire, Luna,” they both chorus. I shake my head; their backstabbing is lethal, and anyone who is a friend of theirs should be scared. What is taking Warren so long? I sigh as I leave the dance floor
