Page 3 of Heir of the Beast
I laugh.
~Ok, Viola, let’s not get on the bus to Crazy Town just yet.~
Let’s list the facts and look at this logically:
*This letter is glowing. ~Seems impossible.~
*This letter is glowing ~and~ sparkling by an unknown source~. Seems supernatural.~
*“The Fairy Godmother” knows things she most definitely should not about my life. ~Very unsettling~.
*I hear clear sounds of sparkles.
*Fairy Godmother Inc. sounds a bit like the Hunger Games—but for the hopelessly romantic.
*I’m a secret lover of the movie ~Anastasia~, tell no one.
*A meeting at midnight to find Mr. Charming might be a red flag for a rapist~.~
I think about this.
If this is a hidden camera show or a scientific study to test dumb and gullible women, then I will be a proud statistic. Maybe they’re offering to counsel us? I might benefit from that.
This could be a study approved by Dr. Phil! I always wanted to get counseling, a hidden desire, actually.
I secretly want the doctors to look at me and tell me if I really am psychotic or if I have been mistreated my whole life, and it’s not my fault, and then we would cry together. I could break down the emotional walls!
I could get sent to a really nice beachfront rehab facility.
Am I doing this then?
Midnight tonight.
Well, Fairy Godmother, you can count on me. I’m just the right amount of messed up to show up and represent. I glance back at the glowing letter and can’t wipe the silly smile off my face.
I have bought a ticket to Crazy Town.
Or a nice bed at a rehab center.
Chapter 2
11:34 p.m.
I should have already left.
Not sure what’s making me delay.
I take a deep breath and glance at my reflection with a sick feeling in my stomach. Do I look mentally stable? I frown and take in my discolored gaze staring back at me in my cracker-box bathroom.
Definitely, probably, not really. Not when you really take a good long look past my cute face and long black hair.
I used to think my oh-so-blessed, exotic looks would get me far in life, but it has produced adverse effects.
Now, before you get the wrong idea of me, I do appreciate them. I do. I thank the mother who left me at the Water Crest nursing home in Houston, Texas, for them.
But, in a way, it has made me lazy in areas I should have been strong in, like common sense. Street smarts.
I would tell my younger self that getting involved with a known drug dealer’s handsome son should be avoided at all costs.
