The cries of the sirens pierce through the frigid night air before the forest lights up with splashes of red and blue. Emergency lights bounce between the trees and illuminate the wet earth, slicked with a kiss of fallen leaves. We stand there, watchers in the trees, like a coven of witches. But we’ve traded in our dark cloaks for skin-tight dresses, flowing blonde curls, and swaths of red lipstick pulled over sparkling white teeth. We are the most dangerous kind of predator—the kind that is designed to look like prey. None of us dares to move as we watch the slumbering campus jolt to life, knowing that we were the ones who summoned the lightning before we retreated into the forest. “No one can ever know,” I say breathlessly, my voice escaping my throat in a jagged whisper. I look around at the others, all staring straight ahead, the blue lights reflecting in their wide, glassy eyes. No one replies, but I know that they will follow my lead. They always do.
Merci pour la lecture!
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