Chapter 59: Gone
“Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness” —Sylvia Plath.
I can’t keep the scowl from entering my face when I ask the question, “Who?”
I’m pretty sure only two werewolves got into the ballroom. They were not some supersized freakshows too, just some regular sized werewolves, if my memories serve me right. It was pretty much two against fifty. How is it possible that someone died from the attack?
Instead of answering me directly, Mum nudges her head to the side. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”
I do as she suggests, stepping toward the side of the stage where my parents sit. Before I can get a good glimpse of the body, Thomas steps into view. “I don’t think this is the right time,” he says, not to someone behind me.
“Let her see, Thomas,” Mum persists.
