Elara
I shivered against the sudden cold, my body revealed to the chilly morning air in nothing but my thin, silky pajama set. But Grace didn’t seem to care about my discomfort—if anything, she just seemed to revel in it.
In a flash, she was already at my closet, flinging the doors open and rifling through my clothes. Dresses, blouses, and skirts were tossed haphazardly over her shoulder, sailing through the air before falling into a heap on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
She held up a red sundress, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “This is too revealing,” she muttered, throwing it aside. Grabbing a floral blouse, she sneered, “Hideous.” Another skirt was deemed “Inappropriate,” and a pair of jeans was simply “Ugly.”
