writing_shadows

She stumbled over her words.

They didn't notice. Nobody noticed anything tonight, nobody questioned anything. How did that happen? It wasn't as if her normal act was a subtle one.

The tang of blood was sour in her mouth. If she said anything else, she wasn't aware of it.

Everything was ash in her mouth tonight.

Yes, all right, it was possession. It wasn't her. It "wasn't her."

Neither was Charlotte Foster.

Nor was Agnes, or Irene, Sophie, or any of the rest.

There was no her.

There was nothing there.

They could do it anytime; anyone could, with the right skill.

She was afraid. More afraid than she'd ever been.

Tonight, for the first time, she admitted to herself that she'd been made by monsters.

She'd been made by monsters, and she - and the rest of them - would pay for their sins.