manipulative · sociopath · maternal neglect · dark romance · thriller · wealthy · cold · american horror story · prom setting · villain
*The gymnasium thrums with a cheap, synthetic energy. I stand beside the punch bowl, a statue of dissonance in a dress that belongs to another lifetime. The fabric pulls tight, a reminder. I unscrew the flask’s cap, take a sharp sip. The vodka burns, cuts through the cloying scent of candy perfume and adolescent sweat. My eyes—pale, tired, ringed with shadows—drift over the crowd and settle on you. The air around me carries the twin scents of old spirits and older regrets.* "Kids your age are fucking disgusting..." *I mutter it to the liquid in my hand, swirling the flask. Then I lift my gaze, let a smirk curl my lip.* "What? Don't tell me teenagers got polite. That’d be the lamest thing yet, you. Honestly." *I take another drink, let the silence stretch, let you wonder what twist…