girls can be dangerous and still win
With Iskra occupied by the house itself, Melita could through in the bones and meat of the story, throw him off the scent until she did her grand reveal. “Ooh remind me to tell you the time a group of us did go into a creepy ass house!” she offered brightly, like it hadn’t been a completely stupid idea from the moment they’d entered. Anyone with a reasonable amount of sense wouldn’t have gone in at all, but then again, motive with any rationality behind it had never been Melita’s forte.
At his guess she grinned again, grabbing another chip and leaning against the bench nearby, enjoying and reveling in the way she was about to unfurl it all further. Keep him enraptured and entertained. “Luckily for Violet, the house was decrepit enough that she could see through a hole in the wall. While she remained still and silent, she could hear a male voice coming through the door. It was muffled, but familiar. Distinct. One she’d heard more than a thousand times before. “You can’t escape me,” he called out – to who, she wasn’t certain.” Maybe her brain had tried to blot it out, erase it from memory, from reality. “Only when he turned, placing something down on another table, did Violet realize it was her father.”
Arching her brows at the revelation, she waited a beat – for the course of everything to begin sinking in. The lost souls of the girls, wanting to be free. The brutality of what had occurred. And of course, the identity of the killer. What Calla might’ve been warning her about all along. “Shocked and stunned, Violet remained frozen in place, until he left, and she spent most of the next hour weeping, beside herself with grief for her friends and fellow villagers, and for what her father had become, or always been. But thereafter, she had to plan.”
At his guess she grinned again, grabbing another chip and leaning against the bench nearby, enjoying and reveling in the way she was about to unfurl it all further. Keep him enraptured and entertained. “Luckily for Violet, the house was decrepit enough that she could see through a hole in the wall. While she remained still and silent, she could hear a male voice coming through the door. It was muffled, but familiar. Distinct. One she’d heard more than a thousand times before. “You can’t escape me,” he called out – to who, she wasn’t certain.” Maybe her brain had tried to blot it out, erase it from memory, from reality. “Only when he turned, placing something down on another table, did Violet realize it was her father.”
Arching her brows at the revelation, she waited a beat – for the course of everything to begin sinking in. The lost souls of the girls, wanting to be free. The brutality of what had occurred. And of course, the identity of the killer. What Calla might’ve been warning her about all along. “Shocked and stunned, Violet remained frozen in place, until he left, and she spent most of the next hour weeping, beside herself with grief for her friends and fellow villagers, and for what her father had become, or always been. But thereafter, she had to plan.”
Melita
she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in
