I watched as the girl looked down at her dress, her trembling fingers brushing over the shredded fabric, then cast a panicked glance toward Colette. The tension in the air was sweet. I was tempted to add another twist to this little scene—it was getting far too entertaining watching the ladies around us circle her like wolves, whispering with poorly disguised glee. She was clearly being used by Colette, and now she was left to bleed alone.
Poor thing.
But then again, not really.
Colette... she must've thought she was clever. But I wasn't born yesterday, and I certainly intended to live far longer than her. She and her mother had no idea that the only thing keeping them safe right now was my patience—and my cautious restraint.
