Amanda was not like that. Joan's mind ran over remembrances of Amanda: the secret, almost blushing smile that washed across her face as Prince f****d Joan and Amanda watched. She truly enjoyed the play. But not so, it seemed with Myrna. Myrna wanted to corrupt everything with hate. Again Joan wondered what it was that Myrna wished to show her. She would try to make it ugly and Joan would fight to keep it pure. The stage was set.
Myrna emerged from the shadows, leading a pony behind her. The animal's coat was like steeldust in the dim light. And Joan could see a tired, woeful expression on his face.
"It's late to wake him up, isn't it?" she asked Myrna with concern.
The woman only smirked and shouldered her way past the girl, with the small horse trailing dutifully along.
Don't let her
