"We can start whenever you're ready, Miss." The interviewer, in her black dress, muttered as she clicked her pen on her pad of paper. "Alright." I took a breath, stealing a sip from my water bottle before licking my lips and nodding, "go ahed." My hands were sweaty and my heart sped; my nerves were still frantic even...
No one ever had, or ever really would, mistake Hazel Sinclair for being normal. It just wasn't in her character; it wasn't in her stony eyes, or in the way she held herself, something reminiscent of a predator; lithe and calculated. It wasn't in the way her body was sculpted; meticulously refined, poised, deliberate...