Before he could act, Amelia moved first.
She grasped Mrs. Cromwell’s wrist, her gaze steady.
Her voice was slow and deliberate.
"Who is Abby?"
"She is my daughter."
Mrs. Cromwell absentmindedly stroked her hair with one hand.
"My daughter is so well-behaved. She was just a tiny little thing, like a soft milk bun…"
Amelia’s eyes darkened.
Her voice seemed to carry a hypnotic force.
"Abby is not your daughter."
"Abby is not my daughter?"
Mrs. Cromwell’s confusion deepened.
Amelia gave a soft hum. "She isn’t. No one has bullied your daughter."
"No one has bullied my daughter. No one has bullied my daughter…"
Mrs. Cromwell repeated the words twice.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she seemed to return to her senses.
She looked around, noticing the strange way everyone was
