We Were Liars | ONC 2020 ✔

Prologue

"Give it a turn, Lark."

Lark Freeman was as stupid as the few roses that dared to bloom during the dead of winter, and it showed. Giddy with the promise of power and popularity, she gave the bottle in the middle of the circle a strong nudge with the back of her hand, her cyan-painted nails clacking against the glass as she did so.

Avery watched the bottle spin, becoming a blur of green as it whirled around. She remained calm, knowing that her little problem would be taken care of soon. Of course, the Victim Bottle had been spun many times, but never for a mission as important as her current cause. Her arms tightened around her chest, almost crushing her ribcage as the bottle slowly came to a halt.

The other three pledges remained kneeling, sweat beading on their foreheads. When Avery had revealed the initiation, Lark had been the first to volunteer. Avery admittedly liked that ambitious streak, the little bit of viciousness that would make her a wonderful Liar---despite her being a naive idiot.

Of course, she didn't know how the initiation would really end. No one did, except for Avery.

Not even her best friend knew.

The bottle tip pointed straight to the tan-skinned boy in the black My Chemical Romance t-shirt---he had excellent taste in music, Avery had to admit. Although she rarely listened to their songs anymore, she had loved them when she was younger. Ezra Sawyer---he would be Lark's helper in the initiation.

Her glossy lips curled into a sneer. She brushed her dark hair away from her face, making sure every lock was tucked in place. It was her carefully-arranged beauty that added to her status, making her even more intimidating than she should have been. The rest of the student body often whispered of how the head of the Liars was an Asian Snow White---but she was really more of an Evil Queen.

Avery stepped from the shadows, staring down at the kneeling pledges. "You, and you," she said, her riveting voice filling the silence with its rich, hypnotising tones as she pointed to the other two, the ones that the Victim Bottle hadn't chosen. "You've been rejected. Have a horrible day." The girl, wide-eyed and pale as a ghost, nodded and all but ran out of the room. The boy held her gaze for a few seconds, but he soon turned and left as well.

She ruled the school. There was no overturning her decisions.

"Lark Freeman. Ezra Sawyer." Avery grinned, her hand gently tracing itself over her lips. Lipstick rubbed off on her fingertips, red as the blood the pledges would soon have staining their hands. Figuratively, of course. "Welcome to a Liar's initiation."

Ezra looked uncomfortable, almost scared. Lark looked like she could hardly wait, bouncing up and down on her toes, her eyes gleaming with a power-hungry madness Avery knew all too well. She'd seen it in herself, in Brittany, in Hayden and Elysse and Gavin and all the other Liars. For some, that spark soon faded. For others, it stayed with them forever.

It was what separated the fake Liars from the real ones.

"It's...it's just a joke, right?" Ezra confirmed, voice shaky. Avery held back her annoyed scoff. Liars did not question their leader. Liars did not have second thoughts. Liars did not hesitate. If he had done his research, he would have known that.

"It's a harmless prank," Brittany cut in, emerging from behind a pillar and moving to her best friend's side. "A simple one, really."

They were like two swans in perfect balance---or rather, ravens of death. Beauty with beauty, intelligence with intelligence, power with power. A ruthless monarch and her equally savage general. The icy chill from the newly-fixed AC swept through the room, cold air lifting Avery's dark hair and tangling her luscious locks with her best friend's platinum-blonde dyed curls.

Ezra gulped, fearful. Avery could see it. She could see it in his furtive glances at the door. She could see it in the way his knees shook. She could see it in the heavy bob of his Adam's apple as he tried to swallow. He was scared, and that wouldn't do.

"I've changed my mind," she drawled. "I think I'll reject you too." Beside him, Lark's pretty mouth curved into a grin. She was obviously glad that her competition was slowly being scythed down.

"No, wait..." Ezra gulped. "I...I can do it. As long as it's just for kicks."

"We're just joshing around, Ezra. I can assure you of that," Brittany murmured, breaking free from Avery's side to whisper in his ear. Avery noticed how he shuddered like cold chills were dancing up his spine. "It's just...like any other initiation, I promise."

Promises meant nothing, not for Liars. A Liar could make promises all they wanted, but in the end, they would still turn their back on those empty words.

When Brittany beckoned to them with a slightly bent finger, the pledges jerked forward---almost like puppets on strings. Avery turned to the veiled shadows, nodding. The Liar she had brought with her---Elysse, smart and bloodthirsty---came forth with a bowl, her head bowed. Avery took it, purposely showing its contents to the two in front of her. The liquid within gleamed inky black, a murky sheen clouding its otherwise-clear surface.

Lark, again, stepped forward first. She pushed the wisps of hair escaping her headband back under, baring her forehead to them. Avery dipped a finger into the thick, sludgy liquid, dabbing a little onto the other girl's temple. Before the dark substance could loosen enough to drip down her face, it dried up without leaving a mark, like there had never been anything there.

When Lark moved back, Ezra took her place, biting his lower lip nervously as he brushed his hair back from his forehead. Avery repeated the process almost ritualistically, the entire room in reverent silence as the blackened area disappeared once more. It was done. She handed the bowl back to her bearer, who then slipped into the dark once more. Ezra finally stepped away.

Avery flicked an impatient hand. "You two know what to do. Go on, now, or may your social status in this school be forever doomed." Lark Freeman practically skipped out, her chestnut-brown ponytail bouncing as she moved. Avery caught sight of her hands as she left, pale and milky and unblemished, hands that would soon be tainted with metaphorical scarlet.

But Ezra...Ezra lingered. His strawberry-blonde hair---far too light for the clothes he wore---seemed to glow under the dim lamp in the middle of the room. His blue eyes were big and worried. Haloed in faint yellow, he looked like a conflicted angel.

An angel. Not a Liar.

"Hurry up. You have twenty-four hours, remember?" Avery reminded him. Ezra shifted his gaze down, down to the spotless floor, down to the glass bottle hovering around her feet. The tip swayed back and forth, a clear pendulum in the night. The effect was almost haunting. After some shuffling of his feet, he left the room as how Lark had done, except with not so much pep in his step.

Once they were gone, Avery wiped her sweat-free brow out of habit. "Where's Elysse?" she asked.

"Gone through the back door," came Brittany's reply. Her now-still hair hung in thick ringlets, cascading down the sides of her face like a platinum waterfall. Her feet slipped closer, hands reaching for her best friend's face.

Avery took hold of Brittany's chin first, dipping her head back into a kiss as she connected their lips with sweet, languorous, torturing passion. Dark connected with light in a symphony of forbidden love, Romeo and Juliet in their own ways.

She would be ostracised if anyone saw the head of the Liars kissing a girl. Her second-in-command, no less.

"How long, Avery? How long more?" Brittany's voice sounded small and faraway.

"Soon, my love," Avery reassured, kissing her again with reckless abandon. Then her gaze turned hard. "But for now, we'll settle for getting rid of our nasty little problem."

Brittany let out a mirthless laugh. "I think we should get another method of picking victims, though. Spin the bottle seems...rude." At their feet, the Victim Bottle turned once on its smooth green side. Avery shrugged it off, as she had always done. She would continue with the Victim Bottle. It was the way of the Liars.

Crushed by the impending weight of the prejudices that had driven them to the crime they would soon commit, they were seventeen, and the world was theirs.