Diala
I watched her shrink into herself as visible fear slowly replaced that earlier surprise and shock on her face, and it gave me the deep satisfaction I had so badly craved, a smirk curling effortlessly onto my lips.
“Your face is surely picturable. And I don’t mind getting one framed so I can always laugh over it,” I said to her, catching the subtle shift in her expression as my words sank in.
“I thought you were different, friendly, and had a free, calming spirit that I could feel safe around. I thought I could trust you. That I had found a sister in you. But I guess I was wrong, you were this evil all along and already had bad instincts hidden behind that fake warmth you tried so hard to show,” her voice dripped with wounded confidence.
Poor thing. Who goes through life believing
