“Stop pretending. Didn’t you notice Galilea with Tyrone?” Abigail scoffed, “She’s his real girlfriend. Our kind is destined for secrecy. I’d advise against pining for things out of your reach.”

“Can you shut up now?” Sabrina retorted, her patience wearing thin.

She assumed her disinterest was conspicuous enough for anyone sensible to leave her alone.

“Oh, so you’re angry now? Just because you managed to snag Tyrone Blakely, you think you’re superior to us? We’re cut from the same cloth. You’re no different.”

“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more of this. Leave, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t your place.”

“If you won’t, then I will.”

rose from the chair, her

left seething, watching Sabrina’s

Blakely, a man of youth,

just mistresses. Why did Sabrina act

it, and in

her footing and toppled

jolt of panic, Abigail ran

to

of suffocation, the familiar fear spreading

grew shorter,

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