While Daisy looked like something that had emerge from the grave of a ritual sacrifice, Esther had gone for the sexually promiscuous vampire aesthetic. Her hair was straightened into two thick black curtains, framing long-lashed eyes with yellow irises, courtesy of a pair of contact lenses that Esther had spent at least fifteen minutes trying to put in before Daisy pinned her down for Susan to do the honors.
“I hate this feeling. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.”
It would be several hours before the girl’s body was found.
It was late now; so late that it could once again be called early -that surreal, enchanted, twilight hour between the end of a party and the unfurling of a new day. The hour when reality grows dim and hazy at the edges, when nearly anything seems possible.
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