Nola Reynolds

The woman with the glossy brown hair that fell in waves to her back adjusted the tiara that was perched like a fly on her head before she stopped in front of the stone archway of a wooden door.

The one I guessed opened to my quarters. It did not escape my notice that I was going to be the only one on this end of the castle, the other girls rooming cohesive on the opposite corridor that broke out from the brightly lit florescent shining over the pebbled hallway.

I did not doubt in my mind that Sarah had something to do with my social ostracism. The...