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Cassandra: A bit of chapter 3Chapter 3
Learning the truth
Of course this realisation came as a shock, but it made perfect sense to me. That didn't make it any easier to come to terms with, I meanwerewolves aren't real. Dispite the fact that I had just discovered that my best friend was some kind of mythical beast who had killed a man, I had to carry on with my everyday life until I could pluck up the courage to confront her with what I had learned.
I felt weirdly paranoid that weekend. It was as if everyone could read my mindand thought I was totally insane. I began to deny what I had seen to myself, tried to think of it as a dream, but it didn't work. The horrific knowledge was still at the forefront of my mind and nothing I could do would shift it.
After the longest weekend I have ever had to suffer through, it was finally time to go back to school. I had no idea how I was going to tell her, I just was. I walked into the class room, half-hoping that Cassandra wouldn't be there. She was. Trying to smi
Made of fire
Snakes for hair
Claws for nails
Sometimes the monsters inside are more terrifying than anything you can imagine. It doesn't take eyes to see a monster, but a soul.
Make believeStories are made to help us deal with life
The struggles the characters face
They help us deal with our own problems
Sometimes it's just hard
To accept that it's all make believe
'The female Sherlock Holmes'"'The female Sherlock Holmes?'" She read, "What the HELL did you say that for?"
"I thought you'd be flattered!" I said, taken aback, "How is that anything but a compliment?"
"Well, firstly, I don't do drugs and secondly - well just look for yourself!" She threw a brown paper envelope at me, which I caught none too gracefully. The envelope had clearly been opened before but re-sealed. I slid my finger under the flap and pulled the letter out from inside.
"Dear 'Miss Holmes'," The letter opened with a smug greeting, " I am under the impression that you require a nemisis. I would be happy to oblige. Yours, 'Moriarty' "
I raised my eyes from the note to see my friend fuming in the corner. "Okay, so I see the problem here," I began, "but I know you. This letter was written by some pompous idiot, and you're more than a match for him."
My friend groaned in irritation. "You don't see do you? You've attracted the attention of a psychopath, and he, and it is a he, i
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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