By the time Elara stepped out of her penthouse, still dressed in her blood-stained clothes, the sky was heavy with dark clouds. It looked like it would rain at any moment.
She ignored the weather and kept walking. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care.
For the whole day, she had tried to fill the empty spaces in her mind with memories of Lyra—her laugh, her cute, embarrassed face. But now, as those memories, they were replaced by a sudden, hot wave of anger. She thought about how much she had held herself back for that girl.
It surprised her that someone as meek as Lyra could be so bold. Elara realized she might have been blinded by a sweet voice. She had never imagined that Lyra could actually live without her. That self-confidence now felt like oil on a fire, fueling a flame that swallowed her whole.
She wanted to be angry. She wished she could find something to blame, something to strike out at, but her heart felt hollow.
