THEODORE COHEN
Winter acted weirdly this morning. I grimaced at thought of what it might be, but I knew she wouldn't tell me anything. I didn't wish to force her into telling me, but then again, I was impatient to know. I needed to know.
Frustration filled me. Winter clouded my thoughts in every way imaginable. It was foolish of me to leave her alone in our shared room; she was new here, and just like she pointed out. It was a particular struggle for her to fit in. Where was she now? I regretted leaving her, and I needed to find her.
I stood with a glass of human blood in my hand. I peeked down, watching how thick the liquid was as I whirled the glass between my fingers. The part about drinking human blood was a conflict. Winter was the one who pushed me through it every day. I groaned
