Olivia still held her head, trying to withstand the throbbing sensation that felt as if it were splitting her skull.
Every word Delia had uttered previously about jealousy, about poverty, about hatred all mixed with the foreign memories trying to tear their way into her mind.
"...he still chooses you."
The voice echoed, not in the balcony space, but in every empty corner of her memory. Who was 'he'? Why did her heart feel as if it were being sliced by a knife every time the image of the silver-haired man appeared?
"What are you trying to hide from me...?" Olivia lifted her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
However, when her focus sharpened, the world seemed to stop spinning.
Delia stood too close. So close that Olivia could smell perfume mixed with a strange, metallic scent. For the first time, Delia's face no longer displayed an erupting fire of hatred.
