lions, was meant to be my perfect
ast my "psycho ex," Clara Evans, who ha
rand piano, Clara's worn jo
spat, kicking it away, reinforcing
first entry: lyrics to Veronica's signature song,
ling laugh felt
school melody only "we" would know, further solid
reading Clara's secret hi
ers' is almost fini
ca and I even met, before
ainty w
ainted; this was a girl who admired
arded gifts, her chilling taunt "You don't belong here, stre
me. He never asked,
cold judgmental rage, Ver
ng realization ti
a crystal glass crac
dding anymore; i
e the monstrous truth about the woman I was mar