Freya.

Helene.

She was right there in the middle of it all, basking, turning slightly so the cameras caught her better angle. That smile on her face, that stupid, practiced, witch smile she'd been perfecting since she was fifteen and figured out that pretty and cruel was a combination that got you places.

Always seeking attention. Every room, every street, every space she walked into immediately became a stage and the rest of us became extras in her personal production. I'd watched her do it my whole life. It never got less exhausting.

And of course she looked perfect. Some blinding designer dress that probably cost more than three months...